Ada
by Arthien1188
Summary: Legolas was once in love with a mortal woman. Now he is united with the mortal daughter he did not know he had, and she is not thrilled with her father. She agrees to come to Mirkwood for a year, and both must come to terms with each other. BOOKFIC PlsR
1. Prologue

A/N ....Hi there. looks nervous Well, I'm glad you decided to read my story This takes place before LotR...the exact time frame will be made apparent in later chapters.  
  
I'm very proud of myself, as this is a non-romance story about Legolas. go me Ok, so the first part of the prologue is, but that's about it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and DON'T FORGET TO R&R!!!!!!  
  
By the way..."Ada" is the affectionate term for Father in Sindarin, a.k.a "Daddy." In later chapters, you might notice that Legolas calls Thranduil Father and not "Ada". Honestly, I just couldn't picture Legolas calling Thranduil "Daddy."  
  


* * *

**PROLOGUE**

* * *

Legolas broke into a run, footfalls silent on the bed of autumn leaves that blanketed the path through the dark forest. His patience failed, so eager was he to see her. Finally, he burst out of the thick darkness of the wood into the starlight field where she awaited him.  
  
She stood, wrapped in a cloak to ward off the chill November had carried in, and facing away from him, which was unusual. He though nothing of it; he was too happy to see her and too worried that she seemed cold.  
  
Brytta had not heard him coming. He stepped up behind her, slipped his arms around hers and drew her in under his chin.  
  
"I grow worried about you, meleth nín, awaiting me in the cold like this," he whispered, lips nearly touching her ear. Instead of greeting him, though, Brytta pulled away sharply as she turned to face him. He looked at her in surprise.  
  
"Legolas..." she began softly, without meeting his eyes. "Oh, how I love you," she sighed unhappily.  
  
_Why do you say this? _he wondered. _I know, and have known, that you love me_. Something was terribly wrong, he realized. She could not bear to look him in the face.  
  
"What troubles you?" he asked, taking her cold hands and warming them in his own.  
  
"How many years has it been now, Legolas?" she responded with a question of her own.  
  
"How many years? I know not; I do not mark their passing."  
  
"No," she said. "You do not." She looked into his eyes for the first time that night. "But I do, as mine are numbered. I am growing older, Legolas. Steadily, I age, each day closer to being my last."  
  
"Why do you say this?" he asked, beginning to feel a great sense of unease grow within him.  
  
"I cannot bear to have you watch me age, Legolas. To have you look on as I grow old and weak, a shadow of what I once was."  
  
"Do you truly believe that I would not stay by your side?" he cried.  
  
"I know you would," she answered. "That is why it troubles me so." Brytta suddenly realized that for once she was the more learned, more wise, than he. He was vastly naive where death was concerned. "Have you ever watched someone grow old, Legolas?" she asked, knowing the answer. "I have. It is painful, to watch them slip through life's fingers, frail and half-witted, knowing that they must be suffering, and unable to do anything for them."  
  
Legolas looked at her in shock. "But you are young still."  
  
"Now, yes, and I will have you remember me that way."  
  
Remember? The word burned into Legolas' mind.  
  
She lifted a hand to his face and gently stroked his cheek. "Oh, my love, how can you be so wise in some ways and so innocent in others? I am leaving," she said softly.  
  
He only stared at her, eyes pleading with her silently to recant. "I must. My sister lives many miles from here; that is where I go. And Legolas," she added, "you must not follow. We have allowed ourselves to dream for far too long. It must end here."  
  
Suddenly, her calm facade collapsed and tears began to stream silently down her cheeks, so that they glistened in the starlight. Legolas held her once more, this time pressing her to his chest and caressing her hair as her shoulders began to shake.  
  
"I wish I had some comfort to offer you," he whispered, pushing a strand of unruly chestnut hair behind her ear. "Your mind is set on this, then, and I cannot bend it?" he asked.  
  
"My decision is made," she replied, her voice trembling.  
  
"And when do you leave?"  
  
"Tomorrow."  
  
"So soon? But why?" he cried.  
  
"The longer I tarry the harder parting shall be." She said this coolly, all in one breath, having obviously chosen her words long ago. He said nothing; he was in shock. He could not imagine life without her, for he could not remember life before her. No, that was not true, he could recall the times before her, but they hardly seemed like life at all.  
  
"I shall ask once more. You will not be swayed?" his voice was calm but his hands belied his desperation; they clutched her arms tightly, almost painfully so.  
  
"No," she answered. "No, I will not." She looked up at him pleadingly. "You must understand, I—  
  
He cut her off in mid-sentence, lifting her chin gently with one hand and pressing his lips to hers. Brytta hesitated for a moment, and then slid her arms around his neck, entwining her hands in his hair. Her hand moved to his ear, and ever-so-gently she traced along the graceful sweep of the shell up to the delicate tip. She let her fingers fall until they rested against his chest, where his heart was beating, and would continue to beat, lest it be waylaid by steel or fire.  
  
Legolas was filled with sadness at this last gesture; he knew where her thoughts were turned. He paused.  
  
She did not want to contemplate the despair of their situation right then. She only wanted be with him, and so she kissed him with a fierce passion that stole his breath, and drew his thoughts away from all else.  
  
Legolas thought his heart might burst. It was as if all the many years of his life had been brutally compressed into one night. He had one night with her. He wanted scream, he wanted to sob; but he did not. He held strong, for he felt as though he owed something to her; she had found the strength to do what he could not, and he in turn was to dry her tears with a brave face.  
  
He led her into the very edge of the wood, and they stole behind a mighty beech with sturdy old roots that wrapped around them reassuringly. They eased themselves to the ground, resting upon a bed of leaves. For a moment they simply sat, entwined in each other's arms, eyes locked.  
  
Brytta choked back a sob as he softly caressed her cheek.  
  
Legolas was filled with desperation. One night. Was that all he had?  
  
Gently he pushed her onto her back as his lips came down upon her neck. The heat of his mouth spread through her like wildfire; she tightened her hands in his hair and pressed him closer. She drew a breath sharply when his fingers brushed the skin of her stomach. She wore not a dress but breeches and shirt, as she always had, for the purpose of practicality. The back of this he carefully unlaced, but then hesitated.  
  
"Will you be cold?" he asked, breath flowing across her skin like tendrils of flame.  
  
"I trust in you to keep me warm," she replied with a small smile.  
  
"And I shall," he purred, forgetting for a moment their situation in his desire.  
  
Now her hands wandered across the softness of his deceptively plain raiment of greens and browns and beneath it, where smooth, pale skin was stretched over the hard muscle of his chest.  
  
He made his way slowly back up her neck, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. Their mouths met again, in a kiss that was deep and demanding and yet unhurried.  
  
Their love had always been as that; passionate but patient, and Brytta had often marveled at the way he seemed to lack a sense of time, or at least went untroubled by it. Even now, despite that time had put a choking hold around his neck, the same gentle patience brimming with love could still be found in his kiss and caress.  
  
Brytta felt the tears begin to sting her eyes once again, and she fought them fiercely but they spilled over nevertheless.  
  
Legolas caught a tear with his lips as it slid down her cheek, and she smiled at this characteristic act of affection, her heart tearing all the while.  
  
Under the protection of the great tree, sheltered by her bows and bedded by her blanket of leaves, they were lost in each other for the last time, hearts beating as one.  
  
Later, they slept, or rather Brytta slept while Legolas watched on. He wrapped them both in his cloak of forest green, and she was tucked under his chin with her forehead against his chest, breath blowing softly.  
  
How incredibly vulnerable she looked to him at that moment. Suddenly he feared for her; she _was_ vulnerable and she would be without protection. This was ridiculous and he knew it. Did they not carry out their daily lives without one another? Obviously she managed, as did he. Still he was concerned.  
  
All too quickly the sun appeared on the horizon, a sliver of burning orange that chased away the gray half-light.  
  
Brytta upon waking sat upright, and Legolas drew himself around her as they watched the sun rise. They said not a word; words were not needed. He pressed his cheek to hers and their falling tears mingled, the first tears he had allowed her to see. Soon the dawn was come; the sun was risen, and with painful reluctance she pulled herself from his arms.  
  
He rose with her, still clasping her hand tightly.  
  
"Farewell, Legolas," she said softly. Brytta found that she had no more tears to shed; they were all spent and in their place was a dull acceptance of what was to be.  
  
"_Navaer, meleth nín_," he replied in turn. He kissed her one last time; a soft, lingering kiss that was long and yet far too brief.  
  
"I love you," she whispered, and with that pulled her hand out of his grasp and turned around. At first she walked with rigid self-control, taking careful, measured steps. Then finally she broke into a run and fled from the forest, never looking back.  
  
Legolas watched her retreating form until even to his far-seeing eyes she was little more than a dream.  
  
Brytta halted Aldor as her vision began to swim, and leaned against the sturdy gelding's neck as she was overcome by a wave of dizzy nausea. Aldor waited patiently for permission to continue towards the pasture.  
  
Brytta made a small noise of frustration. Recently she had been suffering from these spells of sudden sickness, brought on by nothing apparent. Nothing that typically eased nausea would cure them; they passed in their own good time.  
  
"Brytta!" The worried face of her sister appeared before her, and the lead rope was taken from Brytta's grasp.  
  
Her sister frowned. "Sick again, sister?" she asked. "I wish I knew what troubled you."  
  
"As do I," replied Brytta dryly.  
  
"Come inside and lie down," advised her sister. She untied the old bay gelding's lead and gave him light slap on the haunch. "Go on, Aldor," she commanded. Aldor was by far the oldest horse she owned, and without any trouble he trotted through the paddock gates and began to graze. Her husband saw this and moved to close the gate.  
  
"This cursed sickness," muttered Brytta angrily as she steadied herself on her sister's arm. "I have used every feasible concoction of herbs and roots, but nothing eases it."  
  
Upon reaching the house, Brytta collapsed heavily on a wooden chair.  
  
"If you were with child, sister, I might understand such illness," her sister said with a laugh.  
  
Brytta's head spun once more, and this time no physical ailment was to blame. It cannot be, she thought. For how many years had they been together, and no child was produced? But in her heart she had known for sometime, and it had nagged at her from the corner of her mind for weeks. She could no longer deny the persistent little voice in the back of her head. She knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, that she was pregnant.  
  
Brytta rested her face in her hands. Was she to cry, or laugh? She knew not which. She was frightened and yet she was overjoyed. One hand strayed to her stomach, and she gave a tiny smile. She had not been left alone. She thought of going back, to tell him, to at least let him know that he was a father. But this was quickly discarded. She could not go back. If she did she would never bring herself to leave him again, and she did not want that.  
  
"Brytta?" said her sister quietly.  
  
"I am so very sorry," she answered. "When I came here, I had no intention of bringing two mouths to feed. I understand if you do not have the means to support me, and if you will not have me."  
  
"You expect that I would throw you and your unborn child into the streets?" she exclaimed. "Dear sister, you are welcome here always." She took Brytta's hand gently in her own. "Will you tell me who the father is?" she asked quietly.  
  
Brytta felt that this news might by as disturbing as the previous. The elves of Mirkwood were both respected and feared. The two races, the Woodsmen and the elves, kept mostly to themselves, with the exception of Laketown, where Wood-elves were regular visitors who acted as ambassadors for their king.  
  
"That answer is not as simple as a name," she began uneasily. "There is a long tale to tell, little sister."  
  
"Then do tell it," she urged. "And I shall listen intently."  
  
"You remember, I am sure, how I used to wander so dangerously near to the forest?" she said. She had first encountered Legolas when she had still lived with her parents, and she had been naught more than a child. As she grew into a woman, friendship grew into love. When she had grown to marrying age, but of course would not wed; her heart being already given, she had found herself a house as near to the edge of the wood as any dared to build. There she stayed, earning money by using her knowledge of nature, gained of course through Legolas, to fix drinks and salves that helped ease common ailments. The rest of village had looked on her as being a bit eccentric (for who in her right mind would wander in the forest willingly?) but nonetheless a good woman.  
  
"Of course," her sister answered. "Many a time you tried to drag me into that black wood, but I had some sense and would not go," she finished with a laugh.  
  
So Brytta told her of all that had come to pass, from the time she had fled before Legolas, becoming even further lost, to their last night together.  
  
Her sister looked a bit frightened and very much uncomfortable by the time she had finished.  
  
"So, this child..." she began awkwardly.  
  
"Is as mortal as you and I," finished Brytta.  
  
"Ah," replied her sister, looking relieved. "Well, you and your son or daughter have a home here unconditionally, sister."  
  
The baby was born in early July, in the dead heat of a summer's night. A healthy little girl, with bright blue eyes and down of pale hair, and, as her mother quickly learned, a stubborn nature. Despite this, she was a very sweet child most of the time, and Brytta delighted in her. From her petite nose to each perfectly formed little toe, her daughter was a wonder to her. She named her Lassiel, an elvish name and an ode to her father.  
  
Regardless of what the rest of the community thought of her questionable parentage, Brytta was often told what a beautiful baby she had, with that fair hair and blue eyes. Though they seldom spoke of it aloud, many of the women wondered where the father could be hiding, for he must hiding, as his features would be unmistakable next to his daughter. Brytta knew they thought this and it angered her, but nothing was to be done.  
  
It was mid-December, and Lassiel had just recently passed the six-month mark. She sat upright in her wooden crib and whined softly at her mother to be picked up. She did not cry, only whimpered and wiggled her fingers, looking at Brytta appealingly with her father's blue eyes. Brytta conceded defeat and scooped Lassiel up, earning a delighted laugh in the process.  
  
Lassiel babbled happily at her mother, oblivious to the fact that Brytta understood not a word. Brytta bent and kissed Lassiel on the forehead, and instantly the smile faded to a stern frown; apparently Lassiel found such acts of affection offensive.  
  
"Oh, little one," Brytta laughed upon seeing her daughter's indignant expression. "I am sorry to demean with you my kisses."  
  
She set Lassiel down upon the bed, and sat down next to her. On a whim, Brytta lifted from her dresser a delicate wood carving in the likeness of a single leaf. It had been over a year now, and still she as though were it not for her daughter, she could not carry on. The leaf was carefully painted in varying shades of green, with every last detail perfectly in place. He had said it was nothing; his people made such things all the time. But to Brytta, at just fifteen and still filled with wonder over the wisdom and beauty of her newfound friend, it had been astounding.  
  
Now she clutched this tightly in her hand, drew what strength she could from it. Lassiel looked at her mother's hand curiously. Without further ado, she reached out and began to pry her mother's fingers open. Brytta allowed her hand to be pulled open, and let Lassiel hold the little wooden leaf.  
  
Instead of shoving it into her mouth, as Brytta had expected, Lassiel stared at the leaf with fascination. Her little fingers traced the fine carving with as much delicacy as could be expected of such a young child. Her brow knitted as she looked at it seriously. Brytta kissed her hair gently. "_Ada_," she said softly.  
  
Lassiel looked at her questioningly, then said with great and care effort, "_Ada_."  
  
A/N: Names: "Brytta" is Old English (the language of the people of Rohan and Rhovanion) for giver or bestower.  
  
"Aldor" means elder or chief  
  
Sindarin: meleth nín = my love  
  
Navaer = farewell 


	2. Chapter I

**CHAPTER I**

* * *

Lassiel hung the last water pail in the last stall, and sighed. Every horse and pony was watered, fed, and bedded down with clean straw. She paused for a moment, listening to the soft snorts and sighs of the contented animals. Then she turned about and made for the open stable doors. She stepped out into the cool, breezy summer night and walked silently up the gently sloping cobblestone path that wound its way to the modest house in which she lived with her aunt, uncle, and young cousin.  
  
When at last she reached the house, she found her aunt and uncle sitting at the small wooden table that was the center of the largest room in the house. They both greeted her with warm smiles, her uncle asking, "Are all the horses settled for the night?"  
  
"Yes," she replied, "except for Elwing, of course; she will not settle." Elwing was Lassiel's horse, a feisty gray mare she had bought for next to nothing from a neighboring farmer who lacked the time and patience needed to master the mare's spirit. Elwing was named after Lassiel's favorite character from Elvish lore. Her mother had always spoken of Elves on the highest terms, and Lassiel regarded them with certain amount fear and awe.  
  
"I know you wish to leave her loose in the pasture overnight, but the wolves have been roaming as of late, and she would not be safe," her aunt said. Then she gestured for Lassiel to join them. "Come, sit and have something to drink."  
  
"No, thank you," she declined, and moved towards the stairs that ascended to the small loft room she shared with her cousin. "I am very tired." As she opened the door at the top of the stairs, she called, "Good night," over her shoulder.  
  
After changing from her soiled work clothes into a clean nightdress, she crawled beneath the sheets of her bed and closed her eyes. Naught but a moment had gone by when she heard a gentle tap at the front door. Soft voices followed: that of her aunt, her uncle, and one she did not recognize. It had an odd quality, though not at all unpleasant. She lay back and listened for a time. The voices grew urgent, and she struggled to make out their words.  
  
Tired though she was, curiosity triumphed over fatigue. She rose from her bed and stepped across the room to the door, careful not to wake her cousin, who lay sprawled over her bed at the other side of the loft, head tilted to the side and mouth open. She eased the door open and peered into the room below. They were not sitting at the table as she had expected, but still standing at the front entrance. The bedroom door was obscuring her view; she would have to step out of the room to see them. Trying gain a better perspective, and yet remain in the shadows as well, she stepped forward as quietly as possible, which she had come to find was very quite indeed, and carefully shut the door behind her.  
  
Her new vantage point revealed to her the identity of the stranger, though at first she questioned her own eyes. For in the soft firelight a tall, slender figure stood, with hair that fell past his shoulders and shone gold, even the dimly lit room.  
  
Suddenly, his head turned and shockingly bright eyes locked with hers. He had heard, seen, or sensed her somehow. Her aunt and uncle followed his gaze, and Lassiel looked back at them, her cheeks reddening.  
  
She opened her mouth to speak, but her aunt spoke first. "Lassiel," she said slowly, looking at her oddly. "We were just debating over whether or not to wake you. Come down here, dear."  
  
Her aunt's voice held a touch of pity, and Lassiel was instantly suspicious. She descended the stair slowly, looking wary.  
  
She took a moment to steal a glance at the fair stranger who seemed so out of place in their humble living room before remembering proper formalities. Bowing her head, she gave a small curtsey and said, "_Suilaid_, Master Elf." Her mother had insisted she learn common courtesies in the speech of the Elves. Lassiel had doubted the usefulness of this as a child, but it proved worthwhile now.  
  
"_Suilaid_, lady," he replied quietly, inclining his head slightly, and then proceeded to introduce himself as Legolas of the Great Wood. Lassiel noted that though Men had long since begun to call it Mirkwood, he referred to the forest by its old name, as if calling it green could make it so once more.  
  
She waited for some explanation of his being here, from either him or her guardians, but received nothing. She was evidently on the outside of something; her aunt and uncle were sharing anxious glances with the Elf. Finally, her uncle broke the heavy silence.  
  
"Let us sit, and things can be explained to Lassiel," he suggested.  
  
Lassiel found that explanations were no sooner given while seated rather than standing. They began to exchange looks again, and this time, her patience failed her.  
  
"Perhaps I should return to bed, as we seem to making little progress," she snapped.  
  
It was the Elf who finally spoke. He shifted in his chair, and then drew a deep breath and began. His voice was pleasant to listen to; it was more like music than speech. What he spoke of, however, was not so pleasant. It was tragic. Years ago, he had fallen in love with a mortal woman who lived on the borders of the Great Wood. They had enjoyed some years together, meeting in secrecy at the edge of the forest. One day, the woman made heart- rending decision: she could not bear for him to witness her aging, and so she was leaving for her sister's home that was many miles from the wood. She asked him, begged him, even, not to follow her. We have allowed ourselves to dream for far too long. It must end here, she had said. And so, though it broke his heart, he watched her go and did not follow.  
  
Fascinating though this tale was, Lassiel was unsure as of how this related to her. She was about to ask, but the Elf's fair face became clouded with distress, and he prepared to speak once more.  
  
"That woman," he said slowly, "was your mother." All looked at her expectantly, but she did not yet comprehend the implications. Her mother had had an Elf lover. That explained much about her love of all things Elvish. These thoughts and nothing more, because she refused to think that his tale could mean anything more, swirled about her head.  
  
The Elf saw that he had not made himself clear. Truthfully he had no wish to, but his conscience would not allow that.  
  
"Lassiel," he said gently, and she was surprised to hear him speak her name. "When your mother left, I –I did not know—I could not have known—that she was with child."  
  
For a moment she sat without moving, and only stared at him. Then the full meaning of his words hit her with force, and without a word she stood straight up, her chair grinding against the floor with an unpleasant screech, strode swiftly across the room and out the door.  
  
Instinctively she made for the stables, and found her way into the feed room. The stable was completely dark, but so long had she worked there that she did not need sight to navigate. She sat down heavily on a bale of hay, resting her back against another high pile and pulling her knees towards her chest. Her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and she examined her hands resting upon her lap. They were long and slender. She had believed that horses calmed under her touch because she was kind, and gentle, and had a way with animals. But now she knew that this was not so. Her ability was testament to her blood, and nothing more. Now that she thought about it, so were many things she had prided herself in. This was hardest thing for her to digest. She was not who or what she had thought herself to be. On the other hand, half of her argued, it did not matter. She was mortal; she would die and pass away.  
  
As a child she had thought of many identities for her father. A warrior, a Ranger, or even perhaps a noble of some sort, all of them equally romantic and heroic; perfect for her to pin her dreams on. An Elf had never, not ever, been one of them. She drew knees tightly into her chest, and slid into the blissful numbness sleep provided.  
  
Legolas still sat at the inside the house at the table, his face an unreadable mask to those around him. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy and his pain was evident. "She is angry with me."  
  
"I do not believe she is angry," mused Lassiel's uncle. "Even the most minor change takes time to adjust to; and I would hardly consider this minor."  
  
Legolas nodded, but he was not satisfied. Eventually, he headed to stables to put his horse, who had been waiting patiently outside the door, away for the night. He had been offered hospitality, and had gladly accepted.  
  
Alagos nickered softly to Legolas, glad to see his master, as well as being tired and hungry. "_Tolo sí, mellon nín_." Alagos followed Legolas down to the stables, occasionally giving his master a playful nudge from behind. Legolas sighed unhappily.  
  
Lassiel knew not how much time had passed when she heard hoof beats approaching the barn door. The Elf, putting his horse away. He was staying, then. She heard the stall door latching and the rustling of fresh hay and soft straw as the horse settled itself for the night. Suddenly, Legolas was standing in the door way of the feed room, looking in on her. She had failed to hear him coming.  
  
"I would rest easier knowing you were safe inside," he said gently.  
  
A sudden hatred for him filled her at that moment. Where it came from she did not know, but it dominated her for the instant.  
  
"Your people sleep in trees, like wild things," she spat. "Who are you to tell me where I should bed?"  
  
He said nothing, only stood staring in the door way. A moment stretched between them, seeming to last forever and yet not all, and then finally he turned and began to walk away. Lassiel had expected him to become angry with her. She had been trying to get a rise out of him, wanting to know that she had hurt him. When he remained passive it had flattened her anger, and now she only felt sick and empty. _Oh well_, she thought, _he will be leaving tomorrow anyway, and life will go on. It will not be easy, but it will go on.  
  
_A shaft of pale light lanced through the door of the feed room. It roused Lassiel, who rose slowly and, as if possessed by some outside force, began to make to the rounds in the stables without any further thought. Automatically she threw each horse a fresh flake of hay, followed by a scoop of cracked corn and oats. She paused suddenly upon reaching the far end of the barn. A steel gray stallion with a black mane and tail pricked his ears eagerly and nickered softly at the grain in her hand. After a moment's hesitation, she tossed the grain into his bin. He was only a horse, and an innocent bystander in her current state of turmoil, no matter how strongly she resented his master.  
  
Soon after she was joined by her uncle, and they proceeded to muck stalls without speaking. They worked until the sun had risen fully and the summer heat had begun to set in. Half way through her final stall, Lassiel looked up suddenly.  
  
"Did you know?" she demanded of her uncle.  
  
He shifted uneasily. "Yes, we knew. Your mother told us before you were born."  
  
Lassiel turned her back to him. "It seems I was the only one who did not know," she muttered bitterly, and strode angrily towards the house.  
  
Once inside, she walked through the house and directly to the loft, without acknowledging her aunt or the Elf. She found her cousin still awake but still abed.  
  
"Get up, you lump," she laughed, trying to pretend everything was as usual.  
  
"I am up," came the muffled replied. "Am I not awake?" Lassiel shook her head and laughed again. "Who is downstairs?"  
  
She forced a smile. "An Elf, actually."  
  
"An Elf?"  
  
"Yes, a Wood-elf, to be precise." She willed her voice to stay level. "My father, if you must know." The words left an unpleasant taste in her mouth.  
  
"Your father?" came the incredulous reply.  
  
"Yes," she answered, and she was unable to keep the edge out of her voice. "He seems to think it prudent to show up on our doorstep six years after my mother's death asking for her."  
  
"Oh." Not wanting to anger Lassiel, she hesitantly asked, "May I see him?"  
  
"Yes, you may, and breakfast is waiting downstairs in any case. Come." She whipped the covers from the bed, making her cousin squeal.  
  
They both took a moment to dress, and Lassiel pulled her hair into a firm braid at the nape of her neck. Her hair was a pale gold, and now she knew why. She took great pride her hair; as a child it had brought her attention from adults, even those who looked down upon her mother's "questionable values" (which was the most polite way in which they accused her mother of being a whore), and as she grew it had gained her attention from the younger male population of the small village. It was not an object of vanity, she decided, merely something she could feel good about. And as a child she had needed just that. It had not been easy growing up without a father. At times, the teasing and torment had been almost unbearable. The few times the aggressors had become physical, she had fled into the nearest tree, and none had had the courage to follow her. However, that seldom was the case. It had been the verbal abuse that had been the worst, especially from the other girls. Not that she had been completely innocent either. There had been times when she could not resist provoking them, though she usually wished later she had not. And as they approach their teens, they became less openly hostile and more subtly cruel. Then she discovered her talent with horses, and seeing as her aunt and uncle bred and trained horses for a living, it had proved very useful thus far. Life had become easier from that point; she found her place in the community. Then her mother had taken ill and died, and everything seemed to slide downhill once more. For a time she had been depressed, severely depressed. Each day had been a tortuous routine, and she had been groping for a reason to carry on, without much luck. Now, everything had just begun to brighten, and to fall into place, and who should decide that now he was needed but the father she had never had for nineteen years.  
  
"Are you coming?" Lassiel jumped. She had been absorbed in her own thoughts, and her cousin's voice yanked her back into the present. They descended the stair together and Lassiel carefully avoided making eye contact with anyone. It would take time for her to realize that perhaps this was not an easy thing for any of them, but as of now she was too absorbed with feeling mislead and betrayed.  
  
They all sat down to breakfast silently, and the tension was palpable. Lassiel's little cousin, too young to truly understand, was staring at Legolas, obviously fascinated. He looked up and gave her cousin a kindly smile, and Lassiel scowled at him, furious that he was making overtures of friendship towards her little cousin. He was not, and would never be, part of this family.  
  
Staring into her tea, Lassiel realized that the cream was set directly before Legolas. She would have to ask him to pass it across the table. She dreaded speaking to him, and she struggled to decide which was worse: speaking to him, or drinking tea straight. On one hand, she could avoid speaking to him, but she would not enjoy her drink. On the other, to obtain cream she would be forced to address him personally. She took a tiny sip of her tea, and nearly gagged. She glanced towards the cream once more. Now she was faced with another problem: what to address him as. She would never, of course, call him "father"; she would rather die. To call him by name seemed too familiar, and yet she would feel foolish calling him "Master Elf".  
  
She was reluctant to break the silence, feeling as though the others would take it as signal to begin talking. Finally, she cleared her throat slightly, and said, "Legolas," he looked up, "may I have the cream?" Her voice was intentionally cool and distant (she hoped).  
  
"Of course," he replied, handing it to her.  
  
She took the little dish from his hand without ever looking at him. "Thank you."  
  
She poured a splash into her cup, along with two cubes of sugar. Out of habit, she pocketed two extra sugar cubes, for Elwing. Her aunt smiled; Lassiel had been "sneaking" sugar to the horses since childhood.  
  
"I fed your horse," Lassiel said suddenly. "I know not what you feed him regularly, but he was hungry, and so I gave him hay and grain." She was surprised to hear these words come out of her mouth, and unsure why she said them. It was almost as if she expected him to feel in debt to her, though this was stupid as she would not deny a hungry horse grain.  
  
"Thank you," he said. "I appreciate it, and surely Alagos does as well."  
  
She nodded, and finishing her breakfast she stood and moved as if to leave the table.  
  
"Lassiel," Legolas said, stopping her. Slowly she turned back to face him, and though she obediently returned to place at the table, her face bore and expression that made it clear he was in no position to control her.  
  
"Yes?" she prompted, gritting her teeth.  
  
"There are many things we, you and I, need to discuss."  
  
_I have nothing to say to you. _The words were on the tip of her tongue, but ventured no further. She merely stared at him coldly.  
  
"I know this is not easy for you," he began. "But please, understand, I did not know. Had I known..." he trailed off, looking at Lassiel and clearly asking for forgiveness of some sort. She did not respond.  
  
"A stranger you are to me, and I to you, and yet you are none the less my daughter. More than anything, I should like to know you." Here he paused, mastering conflicting emotions. His words had not been entirely truthful. When he looked at Lassiel, he did not truly yearn to know the daughter who had been unknown to him for nineteen years, but felt that he because she was his daughter, he should want to know her. His own child sat before him; surely that meant something. But she glowered at him, and he could feel only feel uncomfortable and guilty.  
  
"You are important to the business of these stables; that is easy enough to see. However, your uncle agrees that the earnings of the yearlings sold last year will be enough to hire a farm hand for a year's time."  
  
Lassiel did not like where this was going, not at all. She felt panic rising in her chest, her heart fluttering like a terror-stricken bird.  
  
"I ask that you come with me, to Mirkwood, for a year, so that-  
  
"No. No, no, no, no, no," Lassiel shook her head desperately.  
  
"We may attempt to mend the gap left by nineteen years," he continued over her protesting. "Please, Lassiel. Will you not even consider it?"  
  
"Absolutely not. I have no wish to leave." Her voice shook, and she looked frantically about the table. She felt as thought she were drowning, struggling to keep her head above water, while her family watched on and offered no help.  
  
"But there is so much you do not know about your own people," he countered.  
  
"My own people?" she echoed, her voice shrill. "I consider my people to be those who raised me. My people are Men, and to their mortal fate am I bound. And besides," she added viciously, "if I do not the ways of 'my people', then _you _are to blame."  
  
Legolas rose sharply from his seat and planting both fisted hands on the table leaned over towards her. He appeared calm, but she could read the anger and emotion in his eyes.  
  
"Do not ever suggest that I did anything less for your mother than I could have. I loved her more than life itself, and I only followed her wishes by letting her leave as she did. Do you honestly believe that my heart did not break as I watched her walk away?" His voice was low and intense, his eyes bored into her, and Lassiel became aware of how just angry she had really made him. "And have you any concept of the great deal of guilt I already carry, over not being at your mother's side when she drew her last breath, and leaving you fatherless for your childhood?"  
  
Lassiel could not meet his eyes, and said nothing. Shame welled up inside her, but she smashed it down; she refused to have any sympathy for him. "I still do not wish to leave," she muttered lamely. He did not reply, only sat down slowly and drew a long breath.  
  
"Will you let him take me?" she asked louder, the question directed towards her aunt and uncle.  
  
"I will not take you anywhere," Legolas stated.  
  
"Lassiel," said her aunt. "This is not what you would have me say, but I do believe that you should go. Your mother would have wanted you know this part of your," she fumbled for a word, "heritage."  
  
Tears stung Lassiel's eyes. She had never felt so betrayed. She was developing a habit of victimizing herself. Had she thought about it, she might have realized that she had not  
  
considered the feelings of those around her since moment she stepped down the stairs the previous night.  
  
"Fine," she hissed. Then she turned to Legolas. "I want to leave as soon as possible. The sooner we leave, the sooner I return," she said bluntly.  
  
"I suppose we could depart today, when you are packed," he replied, looking slightly taken-aback.  
  
Lassiel nodded curtly and left the table without a backward glance.  
  
She had been in the loft for fifteen minutes and was nearly packed when her cousin entered, eyes watery and chin trembling.  
  
"I do not want you leave," she burst, and Lassiel was flooded with emotion. She had until now forced herself to remain numb, but could no longer maintain this.  
  
"It is only a year," she said, trying to sound reassuring. "And then I shall return."  
  
Her cousin nodded, tears streaming down her face, while Lassiel fought back tears of her own. Suddenly, they were hugging tightly.  
  
Giving her cousin a last pat on the back, Lassiel pulled away. As she stepped down the stairs she called a last painful goodbye over her shoulder.  
  
Legolas was waiting for her in the stables. Without acknowledging his presence, she quickly groomed and saddled Elwing, the gray mare dancing nervously all the while. She tied her bag onto the saddle and then led Elwing out the door. Once outside she mounted and waited for Legolas. Then together they rode towards the house, where Lassiel bided her aunt and uncle a last uneasy farewell.  
  
They took to the road, and Lassiel kept her eyes forward as all that she had ever known faded slowly away behind her. 


	3. Chapter II

**CHAPTER II**

* * *

Elwing tossed her head and danced sideways. Lassiel spoke to her softly, and she quieted, if only for a moment. They had been riding for nearly an hour, and still the mare would not walk calmly. Though she feigned annoyance, Lassiel was secretly glad for this, for it provided a distraction from the sickening silence that stretched between her and Legolas. Relaxing the reigns she sighed heavily and shifted her weight in the saddle.  
  
"I was told you had a way with animals, horse especially," ventured Legolas cautiously. "Have you ever tried to ride without saddle or bridle?"  
  
"No," she replied flatly. This was an immense lie on her part. She did so often, though never in public, as she refused to give the rest of the village a new excuse to label her strange and ostracize her. Her response to him was guided by an unconscious oath that in a year's time from now he would have gained no ground with her, and that she would leave Mirkwood and never return. This rule governed all her actions, whether or not she knew it.  
  
That exchange was the sum of conversation for the following three hours. Legolas saw little hope for anymore, and Lassiel refused to try.  
  
The hour now approached noon, and the travelers came upon Laketown. The streets were a blur of activity, and Lassiel was instantly disoriented. Legolas, however, had been there many times on political errands, discussing the price and delivery of various goods to his father halls in Mirkwood, and negotiated the chaotic, commerce-based town with confidence.  
  
As they rode though the town, Lassiel was painfully aware of the number of eyes upon her and her estranged father. She soon became aware, however, that many of the observers were quick in giving bows and nods of respect, which Legolas returned graciously. Twice she came very near to asking him why this was, but she could not bring herself to swallow her pride.  
  
They stopped briefly and ate, though Lassiel hardly tasted anything. The reality of things was beginning to set in. She had not thought before she left; in her anger and hurt she had simply stormed out. Now, she reflected over her actions, and grew frightened, wondering what she had thrown herself into.  
  
Legolas was having similar doubts as he watched her pick at her food sullenly. She had quite a temper, which he did not find surprising, as so had her mother. But her mother, he thought, had been reasonable. Lassiel seemed to be no more than a raging torrent of emotion, with no restraint or self-control.  
  
They moved on, out of Laketown and into a neighboring village. The sun burned orange on the horizon when they came upon a humble little house on the very edge of the town. Behind it stretched a length of uncultured field, and beyond that Lassiel thought, if she strained her eyes, she could see the forest rising dark and foreboding.  
  
Legolas' eyes lingered on the house. "That was where your mother lived," he said quietly.  
  
Lassiel was surprised. "So close? I thought she moved 'many miles' from the forest."  
  
Legolas nodded. "So she told me, in an effort, I suspect, to detour me from following her. I was shocked when I was told she lived only a day's ride from here." He finally tore his gaze from the house, and sighed. "From here on we have two choices: we can stop here and make camp for the night, or ride on and reach our destination by midnight."  
  
"It does not matter to me," she replied. He was clearly asking her if she was tired, which she was, but she would rather have ridden to exhaustion then admit this. She was anxious to avert any situation that offered him a chance to play father to her.  
  
"Well, let us ride on then. That field is green and level; ideal for letting the horses have a good run, which your mare seems eager for."  
  
Lassiel nodded. Thought they had traveled all day, they had done scarcely more than walking, and Elwing was still high strung and full of nervous energy.  
  
They set off at a measured lope, and Elwing flung her head eagerly. Lassiel gave her the reigns. If Legolas wanted to keep up, he would.  
  
His gray stallion matched Elwing step for step. Legolas turned towards Lassiel, and she stared back, daring him to reprimand her. Much to her surprise, he smiled. She looked away quickly. That had not been the desired effect.  
  
For time she lost herself in the rhythm of pounding hooves, her heart soaring with a wild joy as the mare lengthened her stride and ate up the distance to the edge of the forest.  
  
Lassiel would come to describe the next few moments as the worst of her life. Elwing flowing stride broke sharply as the mare lurched forward. She stumbled and fell, legs folding beneath her and skidding across the ground on one shoulder. Lassiel was pitched off, her vision spinning almost comically as she was flung to the ground. As soon she landed she was on her feet, despite that she had fallen hard.  
  
She ran to Elwing side. The mare still lay on her side, eyes wide with fear, nostrils flaring, sides lathered with sweat from exertion and fright. After a moment, she struggled unsteadily to her feet and then stood, legs spread in a wide stance that afforded her more balance.  
  
Frantically, Lassiel ran her hands down each of the mare legs, searching for something, anything, that was out of place. Aside from the expected scrapes and bruises marring the soft gray hide, there was nothing obviously wrong. No bowed tendons or fractured bones.  
  
Her horse's safety no longer in question, she suddenly dissolved into a mass of tears. She clung to her mare's neck and buried her face in the rough silver mane..  
  
"I could have killed you," she whispered tearfully. "What was I thinking?" She knew, and had known from the time she was a child, that you do not gallop a horse over field you did not know. A horse could break a leg, if he stepped in some animal's burrow or some uneven footing and stumbled.  
  
A light touch on her shoulder commanded her attention. She spun around and hissed, "Will you not just leave me be for a moment?" into Legolas' concerned face.  
  
He paid her less than warm reception no heed. "Are you all right?  
  
"Fine."  
  
Elwing's ears flickered; she was well aware of the tension that existed between these two, though she would never comprehend its cause. Then, in the wonderfully simple nature of horses, she bent her head to the ground and casually snatched a mouthful of sweet green grass.  
  
A smile played upon Legolas' face as he watched the mare eat. "It seems she thinks much less of this incident than you do," he said good-naturedly.  
  
"That is because she knows only what it is, Lassiel replied darkly. "She does not understand what might have been. She does not know it might have cost her a leg, and therefore her life."  
  
Moodily she turned to the mare and loosened her girth. No need for it to be tight if she was not to be ridden. And after a fall like that, Lassiel did not intend to ride her for a day or so.  
  
"Lassiel, you are tired," said Legolas. "I will not have you walk. Take Alagos, and I shall walk.".  
  
"No," she replied simply. "I would prefer to walk with my horse."  
  
"Alagos is well-broken. Do not let it trouble you that he wears no saddle or bridle."  
  
Lassiel looked at him incredulously. "I am not afraid of your horse!" she exclaimed indignantly. "I have no wish to abandon my injured mare!"  
  
And so they both walked, for Legolas refused to let her walk while he rode and she refused to ride. Soon they had reached the edge of the wood, which rose dark and thick before them.  
  
Legolas was telling her something, Lassiel knew that much, but she did not hear a word of it. Her eyes were fixed on the trees.  
  
They were ancient, majestic birches, with proud bows and green leaves that swayed in the gentle summer breeze. And as she looked at them, she found them not frightening but alluring, cool and green, drawing her in. Her head spun. The forest seemed to breath; it had its own rhythm, and it pulsed with a life she had not believed existed. She was overwhelmed and frightened; these feelings were alien to her. She sucked in a deep breath, and became aware that Legolas was watching her.  
  
"I do not wish to go," she declared, though her voice shook and lacked conviction. "Evil things now dwell there, and it is not safe."  
  
Evil things such as Wood-elves? he nearly asked, but did not, partially because he knew what answer she would give. "We have preserved what we could," he said. "And where we keep it, it is safe. You have nothing to fear when in my father's realm."  
  
Lassiel looked at him. "Your father's realm?"  
  
He turned towards her. "Yes. My father holds kingship over the northern part of this wood."  
  
"Oh," was all she could say. The Elvenking was a prominent, slightly feared figure where Lassiel came from. He was responsible for a majority of Laketown's commerce. He ensured the city a steady source of income, through drought and flood. In essence, he was the backbone of the economy of Laketown and its surrounding villages. Beyond economics, though, there were the tales of his great halls wrought of stone, protected by elven magic, the likes of which mortals could only imagine.  
  
Well, she thought, feeling a bit giddy, I shall return with many tales, that is certain enough.  
  
Legolas stepped into the trees, and Lassiel followed, managing to coerce a wary Elwing into coming after.  
  
For moment he paused, face turned upwards towards the great boughs that formed a ceiling overhead. When they continued on, it seemed to Lassiel that his entire manner changed. His eyes lacked a nervous edge, something she had not noticed before because she had never seen him without it. He would reach out and brush his finger tips across the leaves of the trees as they passed them, speaking quietly to himself in his own tongue.  
  
He is glad to be in the forest once more, she realized suddenly. She felt a pang of sympathy. She understood homesickness all too well in this last day.  
  
Their trek through the forest seemed endless. The branches of the trees stretched over the path, twisting and tangling into ceiling that blocked out the light of the stars and moon. They were submerged in an inky, suffocating darkness, and Lassiel was very afraid she might stray off the path and be lost. She locked her eyes onto the pale tip of Alagos' tail, flickering like a silver flame with every step he took. Suddenly, she was so tired that she nearly set aside her pride and asked if she could ride the stallion. Just as she about to do so, when her legs could carry her no further, they rounded a bend in the path and the fabled stone halls came into view. Before them lay a river, spanned by a wooden bridge that led to the towering iron gates that were said to be held shut by some force beyond mortal knowledge.  
  
Legolas stopped. He cocked his head slightly, and then turned towards an old, gnarled tree that grew just off the path.  
  
"You are not as silent as you might be, friend," he called out in the speech of the Elves. Lassiel, of course, understood almost nothing of what he had said, and was not prepared for an Elf, armed with knife, bow, and arrow, to materialize from the surrounding forest. He was dressed in the soft greens and browns of the wood and had the fair hair of his people.  
  
Lassiel listened to exchange between Legolas and Elf, presumably a guard, with fascination. It was evidently about her, and the guard, having let them pass, watched her with obvious unease.  
  
"We are a suspicious people," explained Legolas, sounding apologetic.  
  
"I do not expect them to welcome me," she said. "Not anymore than I would welcome an Elf into my own home."  
  
Legolas stared at her, and wondered how it was that she, despite her youth, could twist her words so skillfully as to seem understanding, and yet cut him deeply at them same time.  
  
Lassiel stared back. They locked eyes for an awkward moment, and then Legolas began to walk once more.  
  
Elwing took a few strides forward, and the balked. She evidently did not trust the bridge. Planting her feet into the ground, she locked her knees and would not move another inch.  
  
"Elwing, please!" Lassiel cried in annoyance. "I have little patience for this now. Come on." She tugged hard on the mare's reigns, to no avail. "I should understand if you were so afraid those great gates, but it is a bridge!  
  
"Let her follow Alagos; perhaps then she will realize it is safe," suggested Legolas, already beginning to lead his horse across.  
  
Elwing suddenly decided that being left in the dark forest was far more frightening than the bridge. She nearly leapt on to it, snorting and skittering so violently that Lassiel feared she would be pushed off the edge of the bridge. When they neared the other side, Elwing took a nervous, sideways hop and landed on the grass, eyes still rolling and nostrils flaring.  
  
"You are ridiculous," scolded Lassiel, but her words were softened by affection. "I know of no other animal that would make such a scene over a bridge." She rubbed the mare's forehead gently, and was suddenly glad that she still had Elwing with her; one thing she had not lost.  
  
All at once, the gates swung open and out came many Wood-elves, all armed with slender bows. They all began to speak at once, softly at first, then louder as they called out directly to Legolas. A groom came and took the horses at Legolas' command. Lassiel watched, a bit hurt, as Elwing followed him without so much as a backwards glance.  
  
Legolas raised a long hand, silencing the agitated crowd. They parted to let him through, and Lassiel followed closely behind, gaze turned downward. Many of the Elves stared at her outright, and she could feel the eyes upon her. In an odd twist of fate, she found herself clutching Legolas' arm; he now was the only thing remotely familiar.  
  
Legolas was shocked by this. He looked back her, and she watched him with eyes that pleaded for protection and strength, looking like a lost little girl in dire need of help. His heart twisted painfully as he was reminded so much of her mother, when she had strayed into the forest one fateful day and become lost. She was only a girl at the time, and Legolas' sudden appearance from the dark and seemingly empty wood had terrified her. So much, in fact, that she had actually run the other direction at first. He overtook her easily of course, and managed to convince that his intentions were good. He guided her to edge of the forest, and sent her home.  
  
_She should not have returned_, he thought gravely, as the memories began to pour forth.  
  
Lassiel ripped her hand off his arm, horrified with herself for allowing him to see her in a moment of weakness, and glowered at him. He gave her a look of pity, which she did not want, and compassion, which she did not need. She straightened up and tried to hold her head high, face burning, though she told herself she had nothing to be ashamed of.  
  
_This is because of you_, she decided silently, looking at Legolas with newfound contempt. _Because of you, I was tortured as a child. And when I finally earned their acceptance, you ripped me away, and brought me here, where I am once more destined to be the outcast.  
  
_They were now come through the mighty iron gates and into the halls of stone, delved by the Dwarves so many years ago. The gates clanged shut, and the hollow sound of metal upon metal echoed ominously.  
  
The interior was much warmer and pleasant-looking than she had expected. Lit by lanterns and the occasional torch, it was washed in the soft, russet colors only firelight could produce.  
  
It was also, to her relief, quiet and quite abandoned on the inside. She took a moment to inspect the large hall they stood in now. The stone of the walls was hewn into many forms, and she suddenly realized that she was in essence surrounded by one massive carving. Horses, deer, eagles, and many other splendid forms danced through mighty trees, borne from stone and yet as real any she had ever seen.  
  
Amazed, she found herself tracing the lines of one the eagles, this one in flight, beak open as it screamed a challenged, fierce eyes gleaming dangerously. Each feather was carefully crafted, down the very quick and tiny fibers. And every carving in the hall, there had to be hundreds, was done with the same care.  
  
"The work of the Dwarves," commented Legolas. "A wondrous thing, is it not?"  
  
"It is," she admitted softly, without turning from the carving.  
  
"And yet it cost us what little tolerance we had for each, the Elves of Mirkwood and the Dwarves." His voice carried a mixture of irritation and amusement. "My father paid them their price; and then they demanded more." He sighed. "Nonetheless, these halls are well-crafted, strong, and fair to look upon."  
  
She did not reply. _They are lovely_, she thought. She had certainly never seen anything like this before. She felt a bit of guilt. It was just now that she began to understand that Legolas, though obviously on close terms with his people, was truly considered royalty here. And his life style, while certainly quite different than most things she had associated with the upper class, was luxurious in its own right. His clothing was modest but fine, very fine, and though at first she had attributed this to the Elves, she now realized that it was still much finer than most.  
  
_Am I to live like this as well? _she wondered, both pleased and dismayed. Her thoughts turned to her old bed in the small loft above their humble house, and the now familiar feeling of burning anger began to rise in her chest once more.  
  
_I may live here, but this will never be my home. _


	4. Chapter III

CHAPTER III

* * *

Through the dark stone corridors they walked, the flickering torchlight igniting Legolas' hair, turning it vivid gold. Lassiel snuck a glance at his face; the delicate features and pale skin, flawless and fair beyond mortal measure. He was carefully guarding his emotions, his face calm and eyes cool. _He must be unnerved by this_, she thought. _How can he not be?_ Her thoughts strayed to what inner turmoil might boil beneath his placid demeanor.   
  
They turned one last corner, and finally he slowed and then halted in front of a carven beech wood door. This he opened, and beyond it was a large room, with a spacious bed; a sight that nearly buckled Lassiel's knees it seemed so inviting. A pale silk nightdress was draped carefully over it, and candles and lanterns were already lit. Obviously, Legolas had managed, despite the small uproar, to convey to someone that he needed a room to be prepared.   
  
He motioned to another door that lay opposite the bed. "That is a bath," he explained. "And in the wardrobe you will find clothing. My room is the next down on the left, should you need me."  
  
Here he paused, obviously a bit apprehensive. "We take our first meal an hour after dawn. I do expect that you shall join us, for this meal and all others. I shall be at your door an hour after first light, to take you to the dining hall."   
  
Lassiel felt she should have been angry, but she was simply too tired to feel outraged at the moment. However, one matter troubled did trouble her particularly.  
  
_And when we arrive, and they stare at me with piercing eyes, fair faces barely masking distaste and mistrust, what then will you have me say? How shall I introduce myself, dear father? As your half-bred bastard?_  
  
"And, Lassiel," he added quietly. "You need not concern with yourself with explanations. I shall inform them of our situation."   
  
She nodded mutely and went and sat heavily upon the bed. He watched her for a moment, and then stepped into the shadows, shutting the door behind him.   
  
Now set before Legolas was the daunting task of facing his father. His silent steps carried him past his own bedroom towards his father's chambers.  
  
"Legolas, _ión nín_." .   
  
He turned quickly at the sound of his father's voice. Thranduil stood in hall, apparently having just come from the main corridor, looking at Legolas expectantly.  
  
"Father," Legolas greeted him quietly in return.  
  
"What I am to do, Legolas, when my people demand an explanation, and I have none to give?" His voice was deliberately level, and his eyes were bright and piercing as he searched his son's face.  
  
Legolas avoided his father's gaze. "Perhaps we should discuss things outside beneath the trees. I long for their company; I have been without them for too long."   
  
Thranduil nodded. They made their way through the winding halls of stone towards the courtyard; a strange sight for mortal eyes. For, though they named each other father and son, there was not one line on Thranduil's face, or touch of frost on his golden head, that belied him as elder to Legolas. And mortal eyes were indeed watching them; Lassiel, sparked by the note of shame in Legolas' voice, though she could not understand his words, and delighted that he had now fallen out of grace with his own father, had cracked her door and stood watching as they faded away into darkness.  
  
Lassiel stared after them. Legolas looked to her to be about her own age, though she knew this was not true. It had been hard enough for her to accept that her father could look not a day older than her. But now, seeing the king, she felt her mind reel. He was, though she scarcely believed it herself, her grandfather. Grandfathers, to her, were wizened old men with gray hair and lined faces. They were not fair of face, with clear gray eyes and hair of spun gold. She closed her door and settled back on to her bed, mind working to digest all that it had been fed these past two days.   
  
Upon arriving outside, Thranduil prompted Legolas to speak.  
  
"Well, Legolas, we are beneath the trees, as you requested. Now, I am eager to hear your reasons for riding home at midnight with a mortal girl at your heels."   
  
Legolas rested his brow against the cool, smooth bark of a tall old beech, and sighed.   
  
"There is so much to tell. I know not where to begin."   
  
Thranduil softened, seeing his son's distress. "The beginning is best, _ión nín_," he replied gently, without any sarcasm.   
  
And so Legolas began at the very beginning, for his father knew nothing, nothing at all. But now, hearing this story, he understood why his typically good-natured son had become suddenly dark and sorrowful, after returning from a night spent out in the woods. And why he had, after that night, not gone out into the forest. In fact, he had scarcely left his own chambers.   
  
"She left," Legolas was saying, eyes clouded with pain. "I did not follow. I would have, had I known that she–if I had any way of knowing, I would have never let her go. But I did not know that she carried my child."   
  
Thranduil looked at his son gravely. Finally, he said, "So, this young woman, she is..."   
  
"My daughter," Legolas finished.   
  
"She is a child borne out of an affair between two members of different races," said Thranduil poignantly.  
  
"Yet a child borne out of love, nonetheless," Legolas replied softly, eyes lit like blue flames. "There is no shame in that."  
  
"No, there certainly is not," Thranduil said, relenting a bit. "And that is not what I question. It is the wisdom of your choice to bring the girl here that I doubt. When my people demand to know why we have a mortal woman in our midst, who is allowed to tread the path to our city without a blindfold, simply answering 'love' will not satisfy them. You must understand the position I am in, Legolas."  
  
"I do understand," Legolas said sharply. "But what was I to do, Father? Acknowledge her as my daughter, and then ride away?"   
  
"No," said Thranduil thoughtfully, "of course not." The king laid a gentle hand on his son's shoulder, and peered into his sorrowful eyes. "Legolas, I must ask you this: When you felt your heart begin to stir, when you knew it to be more than mere friendship, why did you not walk away?"  
  
Legolas said nothing, and covered his face with his hands. Then finally he answered. "How many times, Father, do you think I have told myself what I should have done? How many long nights spent cursing my foolishness, while I lay alone, my heart wrenched in two? And now I learn that she is dead?" When Thranduil did not reply, Legolas continued: "It is too late now for what should have been; this I have learned. Do not plague me with what I should have done. I have suffered enough."  
  
"Indeed you have, Legolas," said Thranduil with a sigh. "You wish for me to tell this tale to the people, then?  
  
Legolas nodded. "Please," he answered quietly. "I do not wish for Lassiel to have to explain herself to all tomorrow."  
  
"Lassiel?" said Thranduil. "She truly must be your daughter then." He smiled. "Well, I need only tell one person, and before long the entire kingdom will undoubtedly know."  
  
Legolas nodded, but could not produce a smile for his father's light words.  
  
"Take some rest for yourself," advised Thranduil. "You are in need of it."  
  
"I shall," said Legolas, though he doubted sleep would come.  
  
Father and son went seperate ways; Legolas to his bedroom and the king to speak with captain of the guard.   
  
As Legolas approached his bedroom, he realized that Lassiel had eaten nothing since noon. He rapped on her door.  
  
"Come in," she called, sounding not in the least bit inviting.  
  
He opened the door to find her siting on her bed, staring down at the floor. She looked up at him.  
  
"What?" she snapped.  
  
"You have eaten nothing since midday," he said. "Surely you are hungry."  
  
"Yes," she replied sharply, turning her head away from him.  
  
He nodded. "I shall bring you something."  
  
He set off towards the kitchens, and Lassiel flopped down on the bed. She was hungry, so much so that even her pride had been set aside and she had admitted it to him. Legolas, though he had the best of intentions, had only considered that she might be hungry but once while they traveled, for though he of course ate, he did not rely upon food as much as she did.   
  
Legolas left the kitchens carrying a platter with a soft loaf of bread, a small apple, and a cup of sweet, fresh water; all that he had been able to conjour up so late at night.   
  
Lassiel sat up sharply as her door swung open. She accepted the food with a cold thank you, which she could have given in the Elven tongue, but did not simply to be contrary.   
  
"Sleep well," said Legolas as his took his leave.  
  
Lassiel shut the door firmly behind him.


	5. Chapter IV

_EHEHEHE! I have returned. Anyone who enjoys reading this little story should thank "Eleanor Rigbey" for virtually holding me at gunpoint and making me update _:)_ You're awesome, Katie!_

_So, yeah...I'm back and...Enjoy!_

* * *

**CHAPTER IV**

* * *

Strange, was it not, that though she had ridden late into the night and was in a room below ground, Lassiel rose with sun? She stumbled out of bed, under the mistaken impression that she had horses to feed. When she realized where she was, and why, she sat down on the bed in dismay, and like a frightened child she began to cry. She was tired, and fustrated, and everything was begining to weigh her down terribly.  
  
After a moment or two she composed herself, and berated herself for being foolish. Suddenly she yawned hugely. She took another moment to stretch in an almost feline manner, and then she rose from her bed and walked slowly to the wooden wardrobe across the room.   
  
She was delighted with what she found inside. Several fine dresses, mostly in soft, muted greens, hung there. She ran her hands along one that featured full sleeves and delicate silver embroidering. It seemed likely to fit, and it was beautiful, and yet simple. It was also a far cry from what she usually donned, for a dress was hardly practical when you trained horses for a living.  
  
After a moment's hesitation she put it on, and inspected herself via the mirror that hung on the stone wall. It did fit. Granted, a bit tight on the hips and chest. She had been considered tall, especially for a woman, and rather straight and slim at home. Now, she noted with some pleasure, for it was not something she had ever been able to claim before, she was in comparison rather curvy.   
  
Her hair had been braided tightly the night before, for she had bathed and did not want it to grow knotted while she slept. The bath, to her pleasure, had been hot and soothing. The water was heated by a source unseen, and flowed in and out constantly. She wondered if the water did not circulate in from the river that rushed so near the dwelling.   
  
Now she released her hair, and looking the mirror she scarcely recognized herself. Her hair cascaded down her back in gentle waves of gold. She was wearing a dress, and a fine one at that.   
  
A soft knock on her door ended her preening. It was, of course, Legolas, come to escort her to breakfast. Already irritated with him, despite the fact that she had not yet seen his face, she opened the door.  
  
He gave her a gentle smile, which she did not return. She would not have under any circumstance, but now her stomach gave a sudden lurch. The idea of being brought before the household made her sick with apprehension.  
  
Feeling ill, she followed Legolas through the hall, around a corner, and then into a large, open room with a vaulted ceiling. Inside was a long table, laden with food, at which many Elves sat.   
  
The king strode forward to greet them, and Lassiel gave a quick, nervous bow, and then kept her eyes turned downward. Thranduil looked at her in surprise. Very gently he raised her chin with his hand. Oh, his eyes were bright; Lassiel feared he could see into her soul. Her heart raced. This, then, was the Elvenking of legends, powerful beyond mortal understanding  
  
"Welcome to Mirkwood," he said in her tongue, and Lassiel graced him with the first real smile any of them had seen, allowing herself some pleasure at being so quickly accepted. He smiled back at her.  
  
Legolas was surprised at this exchange, and the tiniest bit jealous. He had been trying to earn such a smile for the past two days, to no avail.  
  
Together they went and sat at the head of the wooden table. Lassiel sat at Legolas' left, and kept her face to her plate.   
  
Gradually the table grew quiet, and she could feel the eyes on her. This would be a long meal, she realized. Soon talk swelled again, much to her relief, and it seemed she was forgotten about for the time being. For a while she listened curiously to the strange, flowing speech that poured so fluently from the mouths of the Fair Folk, but she quickly grew bored with this. When she had eaten all she wanted, which was no small amount, she felt, for the food was extraordinary, she found herself searching for new means of entertainment.   
  
It was then that she discovered an interesting game that could be played while at the table. She moved around the table systematically, locking eyes with each Elf in turn. All, she found, looked away quickly, obviously uncomfortable. Lassiel enjoyed herself immensely, however.   
  
Her present victim was a raven-haired elf who evidently had some status, for his raiment was finer than most To Lassiel's chagrin, he met her eyes calmly, looking on her with mild interest and nothing more. His eyes were a clear gray sparked with bright silver, and they observed her cooly, asking why it was she thought herself deserving of pity. It was she who finally broke their gaze, feeling her face burn as she turned her eyes to her plate.   
  
Thranduil raised a hand, silencing the table. He began to speak, and Lassiel gathered that he was doling out orders to his guard and household. Then with a smile he turned and spoke to Legolas, looking at Lassiel kindly.  
  
"I have been relieved of guard duty," Legolas explained. "My father wishes us to have the day together."  
  
Lassiel noted with satisfaction that he did claim that he himself wished to spend the day with her. "How kind," she said in an absolute monotone, her voice bearing neither sincerity nor sarcasm.  
  
Legolas chose not to reply. He rose from the table and she followed after slowly, unwilling to appear overeager. On their way out of the hall they were intercepted, and Lassiel hid her face, for it was her dark haired friend from the table. He said something in low tones to Legolas, who gave a short laugh in response. Lassiel hoped he was not recounting her recent behavior. But to her relief he only nodded graciously, murmuring a few words of polite acknowledgment as he stepped past.   
  
"Well, what is it you wish to do?" asked Legolas.  
  
Lassiel began to reply, but stopped short of speaking as a child, not three years in age, wrapped himself around Legolas' legs, laughing wildly.  
  
"Taurgil!" Legolas lifted the child up and kissed him gently on the forehead. A woman followed close behind, smiling apologetically.   
  
Lassiel fought back her annoyance as, once again, a conversation was held in a language she did not know. She fiddled with the sleeves of her dress impatiently, until she noticed that the little boy was watching her with large green eyes. She smiled at him, and he hid his face in his hands, peaking through his fingers curiously every once in a while. Then he laughed merrily, and stretched his arms out towards Lassiel.  
  
Legolas looked to his mother for permission, and she nodded, though she did not look unconcerned. Lassiel took the little boy, and he immediately began to babble inanely. He might have been speaking his language fluently, for all she knew, but she doubted that, judging from his age.  
  
Taurgil twisted his fist securely into Lassiel hair, and yanked. His mother made to scold him, but Lassiel laughed and gently unwound the little one's fingers. Bereft of his entertainment, the child quickly grew bored, and began to squirm. Lassiel set him down, and he ran a bit unsteadily towards his mother, who took his hand and led him away.  
  
"That was my cousin Branneth, and her son Taurgil," Legolas said, still smiling faintly. "He seems taken with you."  
  
"I like children; they like me," she said in a dismissive manner. "Where is Elwing?"  
  
"In the stables, I would imagine. Come; I shall take you there."  
  
Following Legolas through the winding halls made Lassiel realize just how easily she could become lost. As they strode down one snaking passage, Legolas commented that there were at least two routes to almost every main hall. The slope of the floor began to rise, and she knew they must have been approaching an exit.   
  
When they finally emerged into daylight, Lassiel had to smile at the sight the greeted them. A score of horses roamed freely about large clearing. Her homesickness faded slightly.   
  
"But..." she began, now frowning, "is there no fence?"  
  
"No," he said. "We have no need for one. Our horses stay of their own accord; they have no desire to wander."  
  
"And what of the spiders?"   
  
"The spiders scarcely dare to tread our borders. They would never come to the very heart of our realm."  
  
"And," she caught sight of Alagos, his tail streaming out behind him like a banner in the wind, "what of the mares and stallions? Together, I mean."  
  
Legolas frowned slightly. "I am afraid I do not understand what you are asking."  
  
Lassiel shifted uncomfortably. "Do the mares not get with foal?"  
  
"Of course," he answered. "But why should that trouble us? We are provided with more horses each season."  
  
Lassiel had never considered things that way. Horses were bread selectively, and the mares and stallions were kept far apart, if possible, and any stallion unfit for breeding was gelded. The thought of simply letting the horses exist in the form of a small herd was alien, and yet it appealed to her.   
  
"I believe your mare is in the stables." Legolas interrupted her philosophical musings on equine behavior.   
  
Elwing's head was thrust over her stall door as she watched the other horses wistfully. She greeted Lassiel joyously, her nostrils fluttering as her low nicker rose into a trumpeting whinny. Then she turned and paced a circle around her stall, tossing her head anxiously, before returning to her outlook at the door.  
  
"She wishes to join her friends," commented Legolas softly.  
  
"I know," Lassiel snapped irritably. That much was obvious. She was not sure, however, that she wanted to let Elwing loose to run wild with the others. What if...she hated to think such things, but what if Elwing proved unwilling to come when Lassiel called?   
  
She toyed with the latch on the stall door. It was wooden latch, simple though ornately carved, and light enough to be broken easily; apparently the Wood-elves did not think highly of confining their horses.  
  
"It is safe?" she asked Legolas dubiously. "You are certain?"  
  
"Quite," he replied, exasperated.   
  
"Alright then," she sighed. She placed her hands on either side of Elwing's head, and pressed her cheek against the mare's soft muzzle. "Just come back to me, alright?" she murmured quietly, and Elwing's ears flickered at the sound of her voice. Lassiel unlatched the door and swung it open.  
  
Elwing lowered her nose to the ground, sniffing hesitantly. She took two halting strides forward, still dragging her nose along the ground. Then she paused and lifted her head, and, seeming to gain confidence, trotted a few steps towards the herd. Suddenly, she sprang forward, kicking her heels into the air and sending clumps of grass and dirt flying as she galloped off.  
  
Elwing touched her nose to that of a chestnut mare, and Lassiel held her breath, waiting for a chorus of harsh squeals. Instead though, the two began to groom each other, nuzzling each other's withers as if they were old friends.  
  
Lassiel wished silently that it could be so easy for her.

* * *

"I should like for you to learn our tongue," Legolas was saying. Lassiel was not listening. She picked at her dinner, and snuck a glance at the dark-haired Elf who had spoiled her fun at the morning meal. His name was Faronel, she had come to find out. Why she really cared she was not sure, but she did.   
  
"Lassiel?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"I asked you if your mother taught you much Sindarin."  
  
"Oh. No, not much. A few simple courtesies, that is all." She frowned, not at all in the mood for this. She made a face at Taurgil, who watched her with wide eyes. _Come sit on my lap_, she pleaded. _Anything to make this a little more bearable_. She had grown tired of outright hostility towards Legolas (except when he truly deserved it), and had instead resorted to cool indifference. But things were just so awkward! It was so hard to speak to him; she was never sure where her boundaries lay, and neither was he. And all the other Elves made a point of not staring at her, not even looking at her, and it drove her mad.  
  
"You would do well to learn more, then, for very few of us know any other language."  
  
"Yes, I suppose so," she said distantly. Faronel had finished his meal and with a quick bow to the king was off down a corridor.   
  
"May I go?" she asked Legolas suddenly.   
  
"If you are done eating, then yes, you may go."   
  
"Thank you." She rose, made some semblance of a curtsey to Thranduil, who nodded, and followed Faronel through the hall on the left.  
  
He heard her coming, and turned around. _What am I doing?_ How was she supposed to introduce herself? 'Hello, Master Elf, I am following you'? And she could hardly claim she was lost, being all of ten feet from the dining hall.  
  
When she did not say anything, he inclined his head slightly and said, "Lady."  
  
"I am no lady," she burst, and to her utter relief he laughed merrily.  
  
"But of course you are! You are Legolas' daughter."   
  
"You speak my tongue! I was worried we might not understand each other." She cursed her own tongue and lips and throat, for they seemed determined to sabotage her dignity.  
  
"Do you need assistance?" he asked, clearly wondering why she was chasing after him.  
  
"No, no…I grew tired of the dinner table. I find it very tedious to be carefully looked away from by everyone at the table, as though they would rather I not be there." She certainly had not intended to admit _that_.  
  
"Yes, I noted as much this morning." He arched an elegant eyebrow.  
  
"Oh…I am terribly sorry about that…" Oh, by Eru, she was such a fool. "I just…I could not understand what anyone was saying, and it seemed likely they were all speaking of me, and I was sick of it."  
  
He shrugged, giving her no assurance that it was all right. "When I was told of your situation, I though for certain that you would be shy and timid, or something of the like, but you have quite surprised me."  
  
"Is that good?" she asked.  
  
He looked at her thoughtfully, but offered no answer. Instead he said, "Well, Lady-  
  
"Please call me Lassiel."  
  
"Very well. I am headed towards the stables, to see if my mare is foaling. She is due any day."  
  
"May I come with you?" She sounded like a troublesome little girl, following one of her many idolized figures around most annoyingly, she thought.  
  
"Do you know anything of horses?"  
  
Lassiel bristled at this. "I train and raise horses for a living."  
  
"Oh, forgive me then," he said. "I did not mean to offend you, though I must admit it seems easy to do."  
  
Lassiel blinked at him, but he said this casually, without any hint of irritation.  
  
"But if you are a capable horsewoman, I would be glad to have you accompany me."  
  
She felt an inexplicable wash of happiness. _Horses_, she told herself. _Horses always make me feel better_. But something told her it was not the horses this time.

* * *

_A/N: Well, there you have it. Farnonel was intended to mean "hunter of stars"... Taurgil- "Forest star", "star forest" something like that...I was very tired when I threw that one together...Anyway, this has not yet been edited...if anyone wants to be my beta, please email me!_


	6. Chapter V

****

**CHAPTER V**

* * *

Lassiel wiped her hands on her already filthy clothing, and wrinkled her nose. She was covered in blood, straw, and hay; thankfully she had changed out of that lovely green dress in mid-afternoon. Pretty as it was, it was not practical, and not at all what she was used to wearing, and she had been greatly relieved when she saw that women also wore pants and tunics.  
  
The birth had been extremely difficult for the little mare; she had unexpectedly been carrying twins. The first was big and sturdy, and a rich brown color that seemed likely to become gray as she got older. She already stood at her dam's side, suckling eagerly. The second, however, was scrawny and undersized; the unfortunate weaker twin. He was bay like his dam, and he lay exhausted in the straw. His mother had shown no interest in him so far, and Lassiel was worried. He needed to nurse; he was weak enough already.  
  
She sat down beside him, and he lifted his head to look her, making his ears wobble.   
  
"I worry for this one," Faronel said quietly.  
  
"I do too." Lassiel ran a hand down the colt's damp neck. "We should rub him dry; his dam is not going to do it."  
  
They fluffed the colt's soft coat, rubbing it vigorously until he was thoroughly dried. Suddenly, he threw his forefeet out in front of him.  
  
"He is going to try to stand," said Faronel, sounding surprised. After a few unsuccessful tries, the skinny colt staggered to his feet, swaying like a drunken man. Lassiel moved to his side and steadied him, pointing him the direction of his dam.   
  
The bay mare swung around and pinned her ears, flashing her teeth savagely.   
  
"Meril!" cried Faronel sharply.   
  
"She will not have him," Lassiel said sadly. "This often happens with twins. She knows that the filly is hers, but she cannot fathom where this other thing had come from. A colt who never tastes at least his mother's first milk will never survive."  
  
Faronel went to Meril's head and pulled her away from her rejected son. "Lead him up and let him drink, then, and I shall hold her for as long as I can."  
  
Lassiel and the colt wobbled up to Meril, and he latched on to her teat eagerly and began to nurse hard for such a little thing, his short tail swishing all the while. Meril stood for this patiently for a few minutes.  
  
"Let her go," suggested Lassiel. "Perhaps she will let him nurse now."  
  
Faronel released Meril's head. She snorted, and slowly craned her head to look at her side. Then she lunged at the little colt viciously, and Lassiel snatched him quickly out of range of his mother's teeth.  
  
Faronel smiled sadly. "Well, little one, what are we to do with you?"  
  
"Are there no other nursing mares who might take him?" Lassiel fondled the colt's floppy ears gently.  
  
"No, I am afraid there are not." Faronel sighed.   
  
"Are there any cows or goats here?" It was not as good as mare's milk, but it was better than nothing.  
  
"No," said Faronel slowly, "but there is cows' milk. It is shipped in from Laketown every other day. But someone must feed him, then, day and night."  
  
"I will do it," Lassiel said instantly.   
  
"What, and live out in the stables? Lassiel, you cannot."   
  
"I—I shall—I shall keep him in my bedroom if I must!" she declared. She was not going to let this colt die without a fight.  
  
"Think you that your father will approve?"  
  
"Think you that I care?" she retorted. Then she looked abashed. "I—he is your colt, but I will beg leave of the king to keep him with me inside and raise him, if you will let me."  
  
"I will let you," said Faronel gravely. "And if he lives he is yours to keep."  
  
"Thank you," she stammered.  
  
"If you can save him, you deserve to keep him. But before your hopes rise, you must ask leave of the king."  
  
"Oh, yes…" She felt uneasy, but would not allow herself to be dissuaded. She bent over and scooped up the little foal, his legs dangling loosely. He was far too light. "Will you come with me?" she asked, and then blushed girlishly.   
  
"Of course," he said coolly.  
  
"What is 'luck' in your tongue?" she asked suddenly.   
  
"Luck?" he echoed. "As in fortune? _Manadh_, I suppose."   
  
"_Manadh_," murmured Lassiel. "A good name."  
  
"He shall need a fair share of it, that much is certain."  
  
It was late at night and the halls were quiet, for which Lassiel was grateful. The king's butler looked at the horse in Lassiel's arms dubiously but said simply that he would see if the king was willing to see them. Faronel translated this for Lassiel.  
  
Thranduil appeared a moment later and Lassiel bowed hastily, which made Manadh squirm and kick out slightly. The king stared incredulously at the colt she was carrying, and Lassiel did not know whether he was angry or amused. _Please let him be amused_, she pleaded.  
  
"I—my king—I've come to ask…" She drew a deep and began again. "His mare gave birth to twins," she said, gesturing toward Faronel. "And this one, well, he was second out, and his mother will not have him, and I want to try and raise him on cows' milk, but then I must keep him with me all the time…" she trailed off, and looked toward Faronel helplessly, but damn him, he was playing aloof again. "I came to ask if you would allow me to keep this colt in my bedroom so that I may care for him."  
  
Thranduil watched her intently. "A horse is not meant to be kept inside," he began at length.  
  
"I know, sire," she whispered, staring at the floor.  
  
"And some sort of pen would have to be built in corner for him; you cannot take him into your bed with you, child."   
  
She nodded without lifting her gaze.   
  
"And I have never allowed anyone to do anything like this before, and I have ruled these woods for a very long time in your eyes." He frowned pensively. "But I have never had anyone like you in my realm before. I will let you do this, but you are to be responsible for the colt's every step…and misstep."  
  
"Thank you! Eh.... _hannad_?" She hoped that was not actually an obscenity.  
  
Thranduil only shook his head. "I hope," he said carefully, "that I shall not come to regret this."  
  
"You shall not, I promise!"

* * *

"This is madness!"  
  
Legolas was not pleased the next morning, seeing a small foal curled up in her bed. She had brought him into her bed, contrary to Thranduil's word, because he would not stay on the blankets in the corner. He kept staggering up to the bedside and nuzzling at her face, until finally she had given in.  
  
"The king said gave me permission," said Lassiel in defense. _And you cannot go against his word_. She rubbed her eyes tiredly. Every few hours through out the night, Manadh would start pushing his nose at her, usually attempting to draw milk out of her fingers. So she would fetch the pail of milk (warmed by hot coals in the fireplace) and soak a cloth rag in it, and then he would drink, perhaps two or three ragfuls before he fell asleep again.   
  
"Lassiel…horses do not always survive; that is the way of things. He is very thin and weak; look, he barely stands!" She had taken Manadh off the bed, and he stood tottering in the middle of the room.  
  
"But he wants to live! He drinks readily, and he is not so weak that he has given up!"  
  
"I will not have you exhaust yourself for a foal with very little chance of survival," said Legolas firmly.  
  
"I will do as I please," she replied coldly. "I shall see a score of years only a month; I am no child."  
  
"True as that maybe, when you are here you will respect my wishes." His voice had risen slightly.  
  
"These are not your halls; I was given permission by the king!" She crossed her arms.  
  
"He is not your father," Legolas said quietly.  
  
"And you are?" she said loudly. "I had not even known you existed until three days ago! Where were you when my mother died, Elf? What good did you ever do me, when I was teased and taunted and had no friends? You are _no_ father." People coming in and out of the hall were staring at them now.  
  
"I have apologized a thousand times, Lassiel! What in Eru's name would you have me do? I cannot change what has already happened!" He clenched his fists in frustration. She was a mere mortal girl; why should he let her claw at him like this?  
  
"No, but you could have the courtesy to let me have a will of my own. You do not own me because you planted me in my mother's womb; I share your blood and that is all!"   
  
Legolas drew a deep breath. "Nonetheless," he said levelly, "that is enough bring us together under these circumstances."  
  
How he could he pretend to be so unaffected? Lassiel looked at him disgust. "Leave me alone." She turned to shut the door.   
  
"I expect you to be at dining hall in half an hour's time," came Legolas' muffled voice through the wood of the door.  
  
"I am too tired."  
  
"You insist on dedicating your life to this foal; you will attend meals."  
  
Lassiel swung around and kicked the bedpost hard. There was no arguing with that logic. Manadh jumped a little at the sound and then stumbled, landing in a heap of tangled legs. Lassiel hurried to his side and helped him to his feet again.   
  
"What am I going to do with you while I am eating?" she asked him in dismay. He looked at her blankly, flicking his short tail once. A pen had not yet been built for him, though she had cleared him corner, but she could not let him have run of her room while she was away. Manadh had a lopsided lightning bolt on his forehead; she traced this thoughtfully.   
  
After a moment she went to find someone who could give what she needed to build Manadh a pen. A few long boards, some posts, and some rope; that would do. With the help of a shy woman she managed to throw together a perfectly decent little stall for the colt. Her helper had conveyed that she worked in the stables, and she seemed to understand perfectly what Lassiel had in mind. In a few minutes they had thrown together a small post-and-rope pen in the corner, with a few baseboards to help keep in straw.   
  
After thanking her helper profusely in every tongue she knew, Lassiel collapsed on the bed, exhausted. She had been late to bed and early to wake for the past two days; that and the stress of the entire situation were really beginning to set in.   
  
_I am not attending breakfast_, she thought with a sudden flash of defiance. _My father would do well to recall that I am mortal, and require sleep.  
_  
She pulled the lightest blanket up to her chin. The bed smelled faintly; of clean straw and a baby horse, making Lassiel smile. Manadh was flopped lazily in his pen, watching her.  
  
"Pleasant dreams, Manadh," she murmured sleepily.

* * *

The little foal did not die. He required almost all of Lassiel's time and attention, but he lived, and so it was worthwhile. And, he proved a welcome distraction during her first month at Mirkwood.   
  
He was now old enough and strong enough that she probably should have taken him out of her bedroom. But the thought of being alone at night, without the comfort of his little sighs as he settled into his straw, made her feel almost teary-eyed.   
  
She would take him running through the halls, when no one was around. Today, she glanced out her door, Manadh peeking out from behind her leg.  
  
"All right, let's go!" she laughed, bolting out the door. Manadh skittered along behind her, tiny hooves clacking on the stone floor. Lassiel turned to see him leap and strike out with one miniature foreleg at some invisible enemy.  
  
One should never face any direction other than the one she is running in, reflected Lassiel later. She collided, full speed, with some innocent bystander. He, however, remained standing, while she landing flat on her back, looking at up at him.   
  
In the worst possible situation, it would have been Legolas. No, no, it would have been the Elvenking himself.  
  
This was nearly as bad.  
  
"Faronel…" Lassiel felt herself blush from head to toe. "I…Manadh likes to…and I…"  
  
"Do you think that might be better done outside?" He raised a dark brow; a habit of his.  
  
"Well, doubtlessly!" she laughed in response. Please, gracious Eru, take me now and spare me this. She looked up at him ruefully from her most ungracious position.  
  
He offered her his hand, and the long fingers curled around hers. "You might at least watch where you run." His voice was gentler now, teasing, as he helped her to her feet.  
  
"I usually do…" She felt her blush deepen. _Of course I_ usually _do...  
_  
"You _have_ gained a rather fetching rosy color, I must say," he said, looking amused.  
  
"Yes, well…" She hid her face, feeling her emotions run wild. _Stop blushing!_ called one half her. _He called me 'fetching'!_ giggled the other. _Why am I twittering all of the sudden?  
_  
Lassiel was not unused to male attention. She knew how to kiss, and she knew … other things…and she had once…_I should have never_, she thought ruefully. Well, she had once let a certain boy, with very nice blue eyes and a straight nose, and a mouthful of sweet words, go much too far. It had been a rather disappointing experience, on the whole. And when she had heard him glibly recounting this story to his friends, she burst into the middle of them and informed them all that he was rather lacking in a particular area (though she had no idea whether or not this was true, having no experience), and they had teased him unmercifully.   
  
"I see he is faring well," observed Faronel, reaching out towards Manadh, who darted away, tossing his head in a comic mimicry of a full-grown stallion. "You should take him outside."  
  
"I know…" She shifted guilty. "I do not want to, though."  
  
"Take him outside," urged Faronel, "if even for only an hour's time."  
  
"Come with me, then," she said much too quickly. "If you would like…" she trailed off.  
  
He only nodded. "Come this way; it is much faster." He led her through a part of the halls she had never even seen before. I have been here for a month, and still I could easily be lost.  
  
"Have you lived in Mirkwood all your life?" she asked suddenly.   
  
He nodded again. "My mother and father followed King Oropher from the ruin of Doriath into the Greenwood to live amongst the Silvan folk."  
  
Lassiel struggled to recall what her mother had taught her about the Elves of Mirkwood. _'The king is a Sinda, a Gray Elf, but he married a Silvan woman, and the prince is both Sindarin and Silvan…'_ The prince, she realized with a jolt, was Legolas. _'Oropher, you see, led his small house of Sindar and a large following of Silvan folk off into the Greenwood, to live lives free from the magic and subtle craft of the High Elves.'_ Lassiel frowned, deep in thought.  
  
"You are a Sinda, then?" she said slowly.  
  
Faronel nodded again. "Are you learned in lore?"  
  
"Hardly! I know only the tales concerning Doriath that my mother told me."  
  
"You are probably as learned as any of the folk here. That would explain the choice of name for your gray mare."  
  
Manadh chose that moment to feel neglected, and bit Lassiel's leg with his nonexistent teeth. "Manadh!" She swatted at him.  
  
Faronel smiled faintly. "Fortune and Star-spray; such apt names."  
  
Lassiel gave Manadh a dark look, and he stared at her innocently. "Ill-fortune might have been better."  
  
They lapsed into an awkward silence, and Lassiel watched Faronel furtively. Bright gray eyes, fine nose, high cheekbones, full lips, strong jaw; Lassiel felt the tell-tale fluttering of the heart that forebode infatuation.   
  
_Why?_ He certainly wasn't over-friendly, or charming. She frowned at herself. _Besides…he is an Elf!_  
  
"Are you getting along with your father?"   
  
Lassiel started. "No…not particularly," she admitted. "We argued again, yesterday."  
  
"You should be glad you have been given this opportunity to know him," Faronel informed her wisely.  
  
"I suppose I _should_ be grateful to him for tearing me away from everything I have ever known." You will not preach to me. What do you know?  
  
"My father and mother are dead. My father was killed before the Black Gates in the Last Alliance, while I watched, and my mother wasted away from grief not long after. Be glad your father is alive."  
  
Lassiel stared at him, trying to speak but finding no words. Manadh butted his muzzle into her palm, and she scratched him behind the ears automatically.   
  
Faronel turned to her sharply. "You are a very strong, intelligent woman; do not waste this opportunity."  
  
"I was not aware it mattered so much to you. It is my opportunity and not yours."   
  
"Well then I shall say this: Your father is my friend, and he does not deserve the treatment you give him."  
  
"So you are his emissary, then!" Lassiel felt a hot sense of betrayal course through her.  
  
"Actually," he said wryly, "he has asked me to teach you Sindarin."  
  
"Why?"   
  
"Because you are a sullen and uncooperative pupil, and he seems to think that I will fare better."  
  
"Why would he think that?" she asked, mortification welling up inside her.   
  
"Perhaps I should ask you the same thing."  
  
"Well, I would not know!"   
  
"Would you not?" He was smiling slightly. "I am glad to do it, understand. Perhaps we might start while Manadh enjoys his time outside."  
  
"Fine."

* * *

Later that day, Manadh seemed yearn for the name ill fortune.  
  
Lassiel was bickering in undertones with Legolas at the dinner table; it was one of the times she was required to see him  
  
"You have graced us with your presence, I see." Lassiel had skipped breakfast that morning.  
  
"You do not need to pretend you enjoy me," she snapped. "I know you would just as soon I not come."  
  
"That is not true."   
  
Suddenly, all the talk at the table stopped abruptly, and Lassiel felt eyes focus in on her. Surely they had not heard what she was saying! Most of them did not even know the language she was speaking.  
  
Something prodded her gently in the back. _Oh no_, she groaned mentally. _Please, no_.  
  
Manadh looked utterly pleased with himself, having found his foster-mother. He reached up to nuzzle her face.   
  
Thranduil was staring at her. "I am _so_ sorry…" Her voice finally broke the taught silence. The king did not respond immediately.  
  
Manadh extended his head towards Lassiel's plate curiously. With great care, he selected a piece of honeyed apple and nibbled it daintily.   
  
Softly at first, then with more force, the sound of laughter swept through the room. The laughter of Elves was as the rippling of water down a stream, and Lassiel was carried with sound. They laughed genially, and she could not help but join them, and feel some of her embarrassment fade.  
  
She turned to Legolas apprehensively, waiting to be rebuked. Instead he smiled; a swift, true smile that lit his features. Lassiel returned the favor with relief.  
  
She would never forget the look on his face, as if she had just given him all the gold beneath the earth. _It means that much to him, that I smiled?  
_  
Suddenly, she felt very poorly about herself.

* * *

_Manadh's name is explained; Meril means rose._

_The information as to the history of the Elves of Mirkwood comes from_ Unfinnished Tales_._

_My statement that Legolas is half Sindarin and half Silvan is my own conclusion founded by canonical fact. Thranduil is Sindarin, and yet in the Lord of the Rings, Legolas consistently refers to himself as a Wood-elf. Thranduil's marriage to a Silvan woman also lends itself toward his attempt to immerse himself in the simpler Silvan culture._


	7. Chapter VI

****

_Ok, I updated! I know it takes a really long time, and I'm sorry. I have mounds of English homework, and excessive amounts of marching band rehearsal. I fully plan on finnishing this story, no matter how long it takes me, so please keep reading! By the way, please take the time to drop me a review. If you don't, I have no way of knowing if you've read or not. _

_I hope you like it! _

****

* * *

CHAPTER VI

Lassiel could hear them singing, even from her room. It was strange and eerie, but beautiful. The melody lilted and floated gracefully through layers of harmony. She understood enough of their words to know that they praised the trees and stars. Finally, the silvery ballad faded softly into nothing.

She could have been out there with them, but to what avail? She could sit alone, sip wine (good wine, to be certain) and feel awkward, while the Elves danced around her.

Another song began, lively and engaging. Lassiel found herself humming along with it instinctively. She realized that the formalities were over; now the Elves were truly celebrating. No one would believe it, if you told them, but they got drunk. She had seen it; fair, noble, and completely drunk. Never Legolas, or Thranduil, or Faronel – no, never them, or any of the nobility, but the plain Wood-elves did.

Lassiel's fingers itched, and she finally caved to her growing urge. She shuffled through the clothing on the top shelf of her wardrobe until her fingers closed around the object that had been hidden there from the day of her arrival.

Ah, her flute. She nearly sighed. It was simple, carved out of plain wood, but it was carefully made and played sweetly. She lifted it to her mouth, first flitting up and down a few easy scale patterns, and playing little licks from her favorite tunes. Then she began to experiment, searching out the key of what the Elves were singing.

There, that was it. She sounded out the melody, playing along for a few verses. Then she grew bolder, improvising a gently harmony line. She felt her heart begin pound; the music was in her veins. She dropped the harmony down low, relishing the hollow, breathy sound of that particular register, before soaring up into a uplifting descant that went well into the highest ranges of the little soprano pipe. She ended a single high, sweet note, made rich with vibrato, while the Elves finished the last verse beneath her.

She let her flute down slowly, sighing. She had needed that.

"I miss Manadh," she murmured to herself. It was little over a week after the incident at dinner. Manadh had been affectionately but very firmly banned from the halls. He lived outside now, as a horse really should...but she missed him terribly. They had celebrated her twentieth birthday, she thought sadly. There was no one else to be bothered with it. Manadh had found a mare who would let him nurse in addition to her own colt, so Lassiel was no longer needed. He still greeting Lassiel enthusiastically, of course...but she missed him.

"Lassiel?"

She physically jumped, she was so startled.

"How long have been there?" she demanded.

"I heard you play," answered Legolas, seeming almost shy. "I had no idea... That was lovely. Will you not come play for us out at the feast?"

"No! Why were you spying on me?" she asked indignantly. She had thought she was playing in privacy.

"When I heard you playing, I did not want to interrupt," he explained. "Please, Lassiel, come play for us!" Legolas felt something strange bloom in his chest. Pride? Yes, pride. She was amazing, when she played...and she was his daughter. This talented young woman was his daughter.

"No! I am not going to play for you!" she snapped defensively. This suspicious, angry young woman was also his daughter.

"Lassiel...it must be better than sitting alone in your room. Are you happy, right now?" Legolas looked at her in a very genuine manner.

"No," she admitted softly.

"Why not?"

"I miss Manadh." It was the easiest answer; there were a thousand reasons why she was not happy.

"You are lonely," Legolas gathered. She nodded. He laid a hand on her arm tentatively. "Come out with me, even you do not play."

"They hate me!" she burst.

"You do not make yourself any more popular by avoided every social aspect of life, Lassiel," he pointed out gently. "They think that you hate them."

"Well," she pulled away from him, "maybe I do."

"I hope not."

"Leave me alone."

He turned to leave, but then looked back over his shoulder. "Lassiel, even when I am with you, you are alone."

* * *

"Father, you must help me."

"What is it, _iôn nín_?"

"Lassiel."

"Is it that simple? The girl herself?"

Legolas sat outside in the courtyard with his father the day after the feast.

"Almost... I can never reach her." He pursed his lips in frustration. "When I come close, she resents the me all the more for it. And on top of that, she is unruly! I say one thing, and she does the other! I try to be firm, but she only throws it back in my face."

Thranduil frowned. "She reminds of a horse," he said slowly. Legolas looked at him doubtfully. "When Men catch wild horses, they are always fearful and untrusting. They cannot speak to their horses as we do. You have a wild filly on your hands, _iôn nín_." He laughed gently. "She does not like the pen you have put her in."

"If I let her roam free, she will not come back," said Legolas sadly.

"I suggest, Legolas, that instead of trying to break your filly, you gentle her."

Legolas let a smile sneak onto his face. "What, exactly, do you propose?"

"You say she is lonely? Perhaps you might find her a more suitable pet than a horse. The little fawn bitch in the kennels whelped a few weeks ago. I see nothing wrong with a well-trained hound in my halls."

"She will suspect some ulterior motive on my part, I assure you," said Legolas, sounding very tired.

"No wild horse takes sugar without suspicion."

Legolas nodded thoughtfully.

* * *

"Tree?"

"Look at him! He is wild today!" Manadh shot straight up into air, his estranged twin sister close at his heels.

"Lassiel! Tree?"

"Oh..._orn._" She sighed. "Faronel, this is dull."

"My apologies. Say: Greetings, my lord."

"_Suilaid, hír nín_. I think I have learned enough for today."

Faronel shook his head at her. "It had only been an hour." Lassiel saw him try to hide his smile. "You are so impatient!"

"It is easy to preach patience when you are immortal," she observed mildly.

He pressed his lips in a thin line. "I suppose."

Lassiel smiled. "I win."

"It is not a matter of winning or losing-

"Yes, it is. And I won."

Faronel looked at her sternly. "You _are_ a difficult pupil."

"I am sorry," she conceded, afraid for a moment that he was truly angry with her.

"You are difficult all around, in fact," he said, and she remembered what Legolas had said the night before. _It is not true_, she thought irately. _I simply do not want his company_. She tried to deny that something about it held an echo of truth.

"Well, I apologize that you must teach me," she said stiffly. "Being so difficult."

"Would it be possible for you to simply cooperate?"

Lassiel turned away from him. "I am in place I do not like, where no one understands me. Forgive me if I am not perfectly trainable at the moment." Her voice was sharp with hurt.

"Have you tried to like this place? Have you made yourself clear to anyone?" Faronel seemed upset. "Never, not once! Let speak for every Elf in this wood: We know only that you do not like us, and much prefer our horses."

The comment stung. Lassiel closed her eyes, feeling tears rush forward. She thought sadly of the night she had informed Manadh she was now twenty years old. He had butted her leg with his small head in response.

"Lassiel...that was cruel of me. I am sorry." Faronel reached out toward her awkwardly.

"No," she pulled out his reach. "It is fine, because it is true. I _do_ prefer your horses." She blinked the tears out of her eyes and crossed her arms in front of her. "I have always preferred horses. They do not care whether or not you know your father. They are always better than people." She pressed a hand to her mouth, wishing she had not just confessed that.

"They are blessed with simplicity," came a low, rich voice. "Which is wonderful trait."

Lassiel's stomach dropped, and she began to struggle to her feet to greet the king properly. She had the worst of the luck, did she not? What an inopportune moment for the king to appear.

"Sit down, child." Lassiel did so quickly. "Would you mind if I spoke with Lassiel alone, Faronel?"

"Of course not, my lord." Lassiel watched his retreating form with dismay. Now she was alone with Thranduil, and properly awed and terrified.

He lowered himself down beside her gracefully.

"May ask as to your purpose, my lord?" she murmured without looking at him.

"I wish to speak with you as your kin and not your king," he said simply. "You may call me anything but 'lord' and 'sire'."

"All right," said Lassiel shyly.

"How are you?"

"Fine," she said awkwardly.

"I know that is not true, but perhaps later you will be able to tell that yourself." She only nodded mutely. "Can I do anything to help you feel well?"

_Let me go home._ "No..." She caught herself before saying 'sire'.

Thranduil searched her face intently, and she resisted the urge to look away from his sharp gray eyes. She saw thousands of years with in them, and it frightened her. Now she see clearly that he was older than Legolas, though he was every bit as fair, if a bit more fierce looking. 

"Let me know if I can help you in any way," he insisted gently.

"You did me a great favor when you let me keep Manadh with me. I would not ask for anything more."

"May I ask you for something, then?"

Lassiel looked at him in surprise. "Of course," she said slowly.

"Make an effort to be kind to my son." She swallowed, feeling a wave of guilt wash over her. "He need not loose his wife _and_ his daughter."

_His wife? _"They were not married, my lord," she pointed out quietly.

"I asked you for none of the that," said Thranduil sternly. "But yes, they were married. Not as Men might see it, but in our way they were wed."

"I never knew that," murmured Lassiel.

"Does it make so great a difference? Love is love, Lassiel, with or without Blessings and Vows. And Elves do not love halfway, and we do not act on love without binding ourselves first."

"Oh." She was dumbstruck. _They were married_. It did matter, despite what Thranduil had said. It mattered. She was not a bastard, and her parents had been in love, despite what any of the stupid girls said. _It still bothers me_, she realized. _I was twelve years old; why does it still bother me? _Because she had thought it was true, that was why.

"I understand that it not this way with Men, is it?" Thranduil's carried the tiniest touch of humor.

"Oh, no. Not at all." She thought sourly of a particular man.

"I see." Clearly, he understood more than she had ever said.

Silence settled on them clumsily. Lassiel stared down at her hands, noting the blue bruise on her thumb were Manadh had bitten her.

"May I ask you something?" she said suddenly.

"You may."

"How old are you?" The question burst out before she could curb it. She had wondered this for quite awhile now. _I hope that is not considered rude._

Thranduil laughed genuinely. "How shall I frame my life so that you can understand it?" He paused. "I was born in the First Age, in Doriath while Dior ruled. Does that give you some perspective?"

"Yes... That was so long ago! I never truly thought of such places and times as real." She tried to wrap her mind around this.

"It was," Thranduil agreed. "Mirkwood is very different from Doriath..." His eyes grew clouded with memory and a strange expression appeared on his face. Then it seemed to pass. "Look, Lassiel, your father approaches. Please think on what I have said."

_As if I would dare try anything in front you,_ she thought. Despite Thranduil's "kin and not king" speech, she would hardly disobey him.

Legolas was carrying a small black wad in the crook of his arms, and had a strange expression on his face.

"Father, Lassiel," he greeted them. "I..." He looked almost a bit sheepish. "I have brought you something, Lassiel."

Lassiel was too taken by the hopeful expression on his face to even notice what he was handing her. _'Make an effort to be kind to my son...' I shall._

The small black wad opened its startling blue eyes and whimpered. A tiny pink tongue lapped at her fingers.

"I thought she might help keep you company," Legolas explained. "A hound is much more suitable indoors than a horse."

He watched her with nervous expectance, and Lassiel was struck with just how great an effect she could have on him.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. Cradling the pup in one arm, she spontaneously embraced him lightly around the shoulders with the other. After a moment's shock, he patted her ackwardly on the back

For the first time, Lassiel felt that perhaps her relations with her father were not doomed.

The next day, everything fell to pieces again.

* * *

"You cannot make me come!" Lassiel raged through her shut door.

"Lassiel, please! We are all expected to be there."

"Is this why you give me gifts? You expect to bribe me?"

"No, that was completely unrelated. Please, open your door. I do not like shouting." Legolas sighed heavily.

"I am not coming."

"Why? You need only stand at my side and dine with us. You do not even have to dance! This is not such a terrible thing, Lassiel."

"No one stares at you! No one whispers in a language you can not understand about how you do not belong!"

"Lassiel, you are my daughter; _you belong_," Legolas said firmly.

"I do not, and I never will!" she shouted. "_And I am not coming!_"

"You will attend. How well you enjoy yourself is up to you. If you would like, you may pick out a fabric and have a dress made."

"You are bribing me," she said accusingly.

"No, Lassiel," he sighed. "I do not bother bribing you, because it does not work. If it pleases you to know, you are thoroughly impossible."

It was not the prospect of having to attend the feast that had her worried so. It was whom she had to play while there. She did not want to sit at the head of the table, with the entire populous of Mirkwood there to look on her and know that she did not belong. It would be ridiculous; a mortal girl from a middle-class family dressed as an Elven lady.

The long hours of introversion were beginning to take their toll on her as well. She scarcely left her room, except for meals and lessons. The occasional visit to Elwing also provided some relief; Lassiel noted just the slightest thickening of the mare's sides, and knew instinctively that she was carrying a foal. The thought put a small, warm glow in her chest, but it was small comfort.

Lassiel slowly unbolted the door and pushed it open with a sight. Legolas was still there.

"Do you enjoy this?" he asked quietly. "I know you are still angry with me. Do you enjoy these terrible struggles?"

"No," she mumbled. "No, of course I do not."

"Then why must you rebel against even my tiniest wish? Why?"

"Why did you bring me here?" she burst. "I want to go home."

"I had hoped that this might become your home."

"Slim hope."

"I am beginning to see that. If you would like to have a gown made, you need to select a cloth today, or it will not be finished in time."

She the door. Luin toddled up to her and wagged her tail hesitantly. Lassiel scooped her up and kissed the top of her velvety head. The puppy wriggled and licked her chin.

"I am happy for Branneth, but I do not want come to this feast thing," she explained. Branneth was carrying her second child, and a feast was being held in celebration. She stroked the pup's soft ears. "I am going to return home with many more creatures than I set out with," she laughed. Manadh, Luin, and Elwing's foal – she frowned in worry. Elwing would be due to foal almost precisely when Lassiel intended to leave. And she intended to leave on the very day her year was completed.

She brushed the thought aside, not wanting to be bothered by it right then. She tucked Luin into her arm and set out to meet Faronel at the stables for another delightful language lesson. They had not spoken after Thranduil interrupted them, and she was not sure how things rested between them.

Faronel was his usual aloof self, and Lassiel was not put off by him. She distracted herself with Luin, who insisted in having her stomach rubbed almost constantly.

"I think that is enough for today," said Faronel, but made no move to rise. Lassiel watched him in distaste. He always spoke as if he were miles above her, or watching everything detachedly.

He was beautiful, though. She smiled slightly. She could at least amuse herself by admiring him.

"I hear you are being made to come to the feast," he said lightly.

Lassiel blinked at him. It was highly unlike him to offer small talk. "How did you hear?"

"Lassiel, everyone in the wood could hear you shouting," he said, sounding exasperated.

She looked away, feeling herself color. "I hate those kinds of things."

"How do you know that? You have never attended anything." His voice was not unkind.

"True enough," she murmured, weary of arguing.

"Perhaps you shall enjoy yourself." His voice sounded odd and guarded. "Perhaps you shall even try some dancing." He looked at her with carefully measured hope.

Lassiel's heart gave a little flutter at his unspoken question. "Perhaps..." She smiled despite herself. Emboldened, she said, "I am supposed to have a dress made for the feast. Will you come with me to find a cloth?" He only nodded, returning to his usual distant self.

Why had she asked him to come? It was not as if he would be much help. He could help translate for her, she supposed. Well, she was glad for the company, in any case.

They rode out of the king's halls a few minutes later. Lassiel deposited Luin in the kennels, where she could play with her littermates, and where Lassiel did not have to worry about her making a mess.

Elwing felt light and eager beneath her. Lassiel rode without tack, relishing the play of her mare's muscles under her legs. It was a beautiful day in late summer, the bright sunlight filtering green through the trees.

Lassiel had never seen any of the towns of Mirkwood, and she watched in fascination and the Elves going about their daily business. They all wore greens and browns, embellished with the shapes of leaves and flowers. Laughing children ran around merrily, and Lassiel thought to herself that there was no sound so joyful as the laughter of Elf children. Faronel and herself received respectful nods (and doubtful stares) from many.

Faronel brought her to a bright little stall with a fair-haired woman behind it. Lassiel stood by awkwardly while he explained their purpose. Immediately she proffered three different cloths: blue, green, and a reddish-gold, and spoke brightly to Faronel.

"She says that the blue befits your eyes. The green is simply a pretty color, and the gold will make your hair look even lovelier." He smiled, and she found it impossible not return the gesture. "You will look wonderful in whatever you should choose, I am sure."

The blue caught her eye. It was silvery and light. She gestured toward it, and woman beamed at her.

"She says you have made a very good choice," Faronel informed her. As the woman disappeared around back into the stall, he murmured, "It was probably the most costly." He smirked.

Lassiel felt the blood drain from her face. "How shall I pay for this?" she asked frantically. Faronel widened his eyes at her dismay.

"The costs will be dealt with by the king. He will see that she is paid."

"Ah," Lassiel nodded in relief.

The shopkeeper returned and asked her something, carrying a length of the blue cloth.

"Do you want to be fitted now?" Faronel asked. "She will be glad to fit and customize something now."

"Oh...all right."

So Lassiel stood and let her drape fabric around her, and push and pull. Faronel was not talkative, so she stood quietly while she was fitted. When the woman seemed satisfied with her measurements, she began to gesture towards Lassiel's neck, chest, and hips.

"She says that the neckline would come down here..." He traced a path with the tip of one finger across her chest. His touch was electric, and her lungs constricted suddenly "And then the waist would dip down..." His voice was low and soft. He placed his hands on her hips, and drew along her stomach with his fingertips until his hands met in the middle of her abdomen.

A curious warmth rushed through her. She searched his clear, gray eyes, wanting to know if he understood just what he was doing.

He did.

She looked away suddenly, and the moment was over. He dropped his hands and turned away from her to examine some fabric.

_I have never been so confused_, she thought. _Never. _His mood changed in an instant; he could be shy and affectionate, or cold and unapproachable. She watched him frustration, admiring his dark, plaited locks as they shone in the son. _I do not understand you at all._

* * *

_A/N: Sigh That whole chapter feels kind of awkward and incoherent? Did you think so? Let me know; I'm probably going to go back and re-write it eventually. _

_Still looking for a beta! Any takers?_


End file.
